The Dame of Baker Street 2: Mind Games
by Jade Author
Summary: Moriarty might be gone but there are still criminals in London. Namely the mysterious "businessman" Magnussen. He knows the weak points on everyone- and he's fascinated by the weaknessed of Sherlock Holmes. One of the best things about weaknesses is the ability to exploit them, and Magnussen knows just how to strike at the detective's rare heart. Sequel to The Dame of Baker Street
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.- And here's the sequel. I had to restate a couple of things for people who didn't read the original DBS 1 so… sorry if it seems a little bit repetitive. Hope you guys are looking forward to this as much as I am! Thanks to everyone who left reviews/ PM'ed me asking for a sequel (here you go).**

The Dame of Baker Street 2: Mind Games, Ch. 1

"Sherlock!" John shouted, he was standing at the bottom of St. Bart's and looking up. His partner was on the roof, the wind whipping his black coat around him harshly.

"Sherlock!" John shouted again. The detective peered over the edge of the building and held his phone to his ear.

"What?" He snapped, "I'm working." John huffed through his phone and shifted his weight.

"There's nothing down here. Are you sure he could have dropped something?" He asked.

"Of course, the footsteps go to the edge and back again. I'm certain he let something fall." Sherlock returned shortly.

"Are you sure?" A female voice asked, joining the conference call on her own phone.

"Yes, Madeline. Don't second guess me." Sherlock said irately. "Check the area around the sidewalk too. Perhaps the item blew away."

"You think it was light?" Madeline said, joining John on the sidewalk in front of Bart's and looking up at the detective on the roof. The sight brought back bad memories that she brushed away with a shake of her head. She and John split up and looked around amid the yellow police tape strung across the street while Sherlock kept examining something on the roof. Madeline paced along the street, trying to find anything amongst the brown leaves that had been washed to the side of the street in the fall rain. Something white caught her eye that was looped over one of the bars of a storm drain. She bent down and pinched the small object between her fingers and discovered that it was paper. Madeline gingerly tried to pull the paper out of the drain but it tore in two. She swore under her breath and held the two soggy micro-strips of paper in her palm and carried them back to John.

"Sherlock, I think I found something." She relayed into her phone. Sherlock appeared on the roof and stared down towards the street.

"Excellent, what is it?" He said eagerly.

"A strip of paper I found in a storm drain. When I pulled it out it tore in two but-"

"It _tore_?"

"Yeah, but we can still use it, right?" Sherlock groaned through the phone tediously.

"Try to be less destructive. Go put the pieces in a bag and give them to whomever's still working down there." He directed. "John, come up here I need a doctor's input."

"On my way." John said through his phone. Madeline quickly passed off the paper strips to Detective Inspector Lestrade and followed John up to the roof of St. Bart's. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her when he saw her emerge onto the roof minutes after John did.

"Are you trying to trigger your depression?" He snapped rhetorically, "Go back and work on finding more objects in the street."

"I'm on my medicine," Madeline said defensively. "I'll be fine." Sherlock rolled his eyes as John stepped forward to examine the body splayed awkwardly on the ground.

"Yes until your dosage wears off and your stubbornness kicks in." He said coldly, frowning when Madeline tried to peer around him and sidling in front of her to block the body from her view. She crossed her arms and glared at him.

"Fine I won't look at it, but get me something to do. My lab is a couple of floors down, I'll go ahead and analyze anything you need." She stated. Sherlock had opened his mouth for a biting retort when John called him over. The detective gave Madeline a stern glance before heading over to the corpse. She made a show of turning around to look in the other direction. His eyes automatically darted over the body jubilantly as he assessed it.

_**Black male,**_

_**Early to mid-twenties,**_

_**No visible lacerations,**_

_**Contracted pupils, time of death over two hours prior,**_

_**Slight rigor mortis in legs, **_

_**Severe rigor mortis in arms,**_

_**Mouth-**_

"Sherlock." John repeated, holding the corpse's mouth open gently and using a pair of forceps to pull a ovular red and yellow object from his mouth.

"Yes that's what I called you over for." Sherlock observed tonelessly. John held onto the item with the forceps as he rotated in front of his face.

"Is this an apple piece?" He asked incredulously. Sherlock nodded and pinched the piece between his fingers. It was about five inches in diameter and cut into a small but thin circular sliver from a red apple.

"Why was that in his mouth?" John asked. Sherlock made sure Madeline was facing away from the crime scene before inspecting the apple slice closer.

"The flesh part is yellowed, so the fruit is old. And look at the jaw. I trust you weren't too violent when opening his mouth." He said.

"Of course not." John admonished. Sherlock nodded curtly and continued.

"Of course not; so explain the forcible and unnatural opening of his mouth when rigor mortis began to set in." He pointed out. "If you tested the muscles around his jaw the lactic acid would have been forced from the cells around the hinge of his jawbone."

"Was that you maybe?" Madeline called over her shoulder, Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her back and turned back to work.

"I didn't open his mouth so far, you're the second one to do so following his death- not including me, of course." He intoned. John produced an evidence bag and Sherlock nonchalantly dropped the apple piece into it and zipped it shut.

"So the apple was put in after death." John murmured.

"Obviously, it's not as if he could choke on it." Sherlock responded coldly, "And think- it's far too large for him to have bitten off of an apple, and the edges are cleanly cut- not perforated like with teeth. Miss Carver, could you discern what was on the paper you found?" He asked. Madeline turned around quickly, pleased to be included in the investigation again. Sherlock made sure to spread his coat a little bit to hide the majority of the body from view.

"I couldn't really read it, we'll have to let it dry out a little bit, first." She explained. Sherlock huffed and gestured for her to turn back around by spinning his hand. She sighed and crossed her arms, turning back around and frowning.

"John check his neck." The detective instructed.

"Bruises at the top of the throat and directly underneath the jawbones." John reported. Sherlock nodded wisely.

"Excellent, check his nose." He added. John furrowed his brow but did as Sherlock had said.

"Both nostrils are in an unnaturally narrower position." He relayed, "The skin oil on his nose has been slid around unnaturally like something was holding it shut."

"So he was strangled." Sherlock murmured, "As expected. That is clever though- actually it's foolish unless they were smart enough." He said. "They forcibly closed his mouth by applying strength under the jaw and simultaneously adding pressure to his windpipe. Then they pinched his nose shut to close off all airways and suffocated him." John frowned at the body and stood back up.

"But why did he die?" He asked. Sherlock frowned and circled the body twice.

"I'm still working on it." He murmured. "Perhaps a gang? He had dog hairs on the heel of his palm and in the inner edge of his cuffs. Coarse hairs, perhaps he had a big dog."

"But what would dogs have to do with a gang?" Madeline asked by his shoulder. He glared at her but she had her eyes aimed at the buildings across the street.

"I'm not looking, and I'm not stupid." She said.

"They have everything to do with it, Miss Carver." Sherlock said shortly. "Perhaps your American gangs function differently. On the wrong side of London there are many street mobs and organizations who can prove to be quite dangerous."

"You sound like you've dealt with them." Madeline observed, suppressing a small shudder. Sherlock's mouth curled slightly like he was recalling fond memories, John shook his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets wordlessly.

"As of 2007 there are over 169 gangs in London itself. Over a quarter of said organizations have been involved in murders. The members tend to use big dogs like German Shepherds and Pitbulls in either illegal dog fights or as back up when inducing panic." The detective explained in a stream of inforation. "You're lucky enough to not have met them." John coughed pointedly and Sherlock sighed.

"Point being he could have been part of the gangs in Manchester or up on the East Side." He summarized, thrusting the plastic bag with the apple sample at Madeline.

"Hold this." He said. She scowled and pinched it between her fingers angrily.

"Can I help?" She said irately, still not looking at the body. Sherlock frowned and began to inspect the victim's hands and feet for any hidden tattoos or soil traces.

"Holmes, how's it going?" Detective Inspector Lestrade panted, huffing from the exerting climb up to the roof.

"Middle twenties, died about two hours ago. There was an apple piece in his mouth that had been put there after death, Miss Carver has the bag for you." Sherlock said quickly, not at all trying to elaborate. Madeline unhappily handed Lestrade the bag and tapped her hand against her leg impatiently.

"That's irritating," Sherlock told her, "If you're that much bothered by your boredom then tell me what you see." John gave him a sharp look and Madeline sighed in relief as she finally lowered her gaze to the body.

A small surge of nausea hit her stomach with a pang but she quickly reigned it in, determined not to let Sherlock notice how uncomfortable the sight of bodies still made her. She clutched her left hand in her right to subconsciously cover the "M" Jim Moriarty had carved into it.

"He's a businessman." She observed offhandedly, trying to figure out an observation John and Sherlock hadn't already stated. Sherlock huffed obnoxiously and crossed his arms. Madeline cut him a sharp glare and turned to Lestrade.

"Do you still have that paper strip I gave you?" She asked. He nodded and produced the bag, which Madeline handed off to Sherlock. He took it with a slightly pleased expression and examined the two torn paper segments through the plastic.

"It's a number." He said plainly, shaking the bag to turn the damp pieces around. "And it's one I recognize."

"Whose is it?" John asked suspiciously. Sherlock smirked and pocketed the bag.

"An acquaintance of mine." He said, turning and striding towards the exit staircase. "Gregor," He called over his shoulder. "Go ahead and run a DNA test on him, it might make you feel useful." Lestrade frowned.

"Sherlock, DNA and proteins are literally my profession. Are you seriously not going to let me help?" Madeline interceded. Sherlock scoffed and turned to face her.

"No, I need you to help with the next part, so let Scotland Yard be useful for once." He said irately. Madeline frowned in confusion but followed him off the roof. John followed suit, leaving Lestrade to stare blankly at the body and call in Donovan and Anderson.

. . .

"I used to use that number quite often. It's a gang's." Sherlock explained.

"Wait- you have a gang's phone number in your phone?" Madeline chided him. John sighed and shook his head.

"He says it was for investigations." The doctor explained. "But I did find him injected full of heroin in one of their drug dens once." Madeline gave Sherlock a sharp glance and he rolled his eyes.

"I was undercover at the time, John. You're the one who dragged me out of there before I could gather enough information for the case." He objected. "Anyway, if we're going to figure out if the victim was murdered by this gang, we're going to have to go back in." Madeline waved her hands in front of her quickly.

"Hold on. You mean 'in' as in infiltrating a drug ring?" She squeaked. Sherlock rubbed his temples and nodded.

"Of course, what else would I be implying? They should accept me back. However John-"He gave the doctor a pained look. "Won't be able to allowing as he dragged me out of the den I had infiltrated already. So that means you're going to have to help me, Miss Carver." He added. Madeline winced and tugged at her sleeves, making sure they covered the white and pink scars that lanced across the insides of her forearms. Sherlock's eyes tracked the movement and narrowed.

"If you don't want to you don't have to." He said, "You'll be more of a hassle if you become triggered while we're working on the case." Madeline reached into her pocket to feel for the round orange prescription bottle that held her antidepressant pills. She turned it over in her pocket agitatedly.

"I can do it." She said, "But what are we even going to do?" Sherlock shrugged.

"That's uncertain, but the case does look promising." He stomped up the stairs of 221 Baker Street and pushed open a door that read "221 B" on the plate beside it. Madeline stepped inside the flat after John and Sherlock and collapsed in one of the three armchairs in front of the fireplace with a sigh. She had moved in with Sherlock after a large and dangerous ordeal with Jim Moriarty, and her previously owned flat was up for rent by the landlady, Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock sat down in his chair and closed his eyes for a little bit as he entered his Mind Palace.

"The gang is known as the Peckham Boys. Quite dangerous violence wise, they wouldn't hesitate to shoot us." He said finally. "Their range spans from Brentwood to Dartford, and they've had multiple arrests by the local police and investigations through Scotland Yard. Miss Carver you'll go with me, and John keep your mobile on you and stay in the area in case something goes awry."

"You want me to loiter around the East End?" John repeated. "Brilliant, sounds like a normal day's work." Sherlock smiled tightly at him and steepled his fingers in front of his nose to think for a while longer. Madeline and John made idle conversation while they waited him out, and Madeline's calico cat Sherry stalked out of her room and began to rub against Sherlock's leg. He jerked out of his mind palace when the cat sank its claws into his trouser leg and Madeline had to forcibly remove her. He stood and brushed himself off frustratedly, then held the door open expectantly.

"Let's go." He snapped, "The game is on."

**A.N.- Ehhhhhhh first chapter is up. Honestly I kind of BS'ed this chapter so I could go ahead and start the new story because everyone wanted to find a link to it so here ya go! Thanks for supporting the original Dame of Baker Street story- we had over 24,000 views and about 100 reviews. Thank you all for your support and I hope you like this one as a sequel. I had to restate a bunch of things you probably remember from the old story as a courtesy for if you didn't read the first one. Sorry for the quality. XD**


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N.- Ughhhh I'm tired, but here. Look up the movie Poker Night if you like thrillers and the like, it's an amazingly undercredited movie and it is AMAZING. (Not to mention the detective is cute as a baby penguin.)**

**Grace- Wow thank you. I was really nervous because I had to include a brief overview of what happened before, but I'm glad you liked it! (That makes one of us!)**

**RLMW- Oh gosh no. I started writing this chapter as soon as I finished DBS1. (Just ask my roommate.) **

**Here you go! Enjoy Sherlock interacting with drug lords.**

The Dame of Baker Street 2: Mind Games, Ch. 2

The plan was simple enough to lay out, but almost too dangerous to execute. John was going to wait a couple of streets away from the place Sherlock had apparently set up with the leader of the gang with John's phone engaged in a call with Madeline's. Madeline would go with Sherlock to meet the leader dressed as his "secretary" but keep her phone in her pocket so John could hear what was happening and know if something went wrong. Sherlock hadn't elaborated the plan any farther than that, so they set off to the drug den.

East London didn't look too awful at first, the buildings remained the same but then began to change. The windows became smaller and dirtier, and there were many clothes being aired out outside of cramped little balconies. Sherlock left John by a small convenience store on a corner and kept walking with Madeline following close behind him. The doctor cast a nervous glance around him and tried to avoid looking at some suspicious personas on the street corner. He pulled out his phone and ducked into convenience store for cover.

"So who is this leader you're going to meet?" Madeline asked as Sherlock walked calmly and purposefully down the sidewalk. "Don't I get a briefing or something?" She added, tugging at the bottom of her suit skirt and pulling her jacket sleeves down.

"His name is Antonio. That's all you need to know. Just don't say anything." He responded without looking at her. Madeline bit the inside of her cheek and followed him to a small and narrow alleyway that took them down a side street and then to the parking lot of what looked like an old car maintenance garage.

"Go ahead and call John." Sherlock murmured to her. Madeline dialed John's number into her phone and cupped her hand around her mouth while she waited for him to pick up.

"Quit that, you look suspicious." Sherlock snapped at her, looking up and down the street to see if someone was watching.

_"Hello?"_ John said. _"Madeline?"_

"Yeah, I'm here." She answered, "We're going in. Don't hang up." She didn't wait to hear John's response, but she slid the phone into her coat pocket all the same and kept her left hand with its gauze wrap wrapped loosely around the phone. Sherlock nodded at her and led the way to a small red and glass door on the side of the building. He rapped on the glass three times and waited. The door cracked open a little bit, then opened wider to admit Sherlock and Madeline. She stayed close to Sherlock as they wove between grubby mats and couches scattered around various rooms with men and women lounging on them lazily. They saw two German Shepherds by a window lying beside each other restlessly. Madeline resisted the urge to bring her hand to her nose and mouth to block the different kinds of smoke drifting through the air. Sherlock stepped up a steep flight of stairs up to a dark wooden door with a clouded window on it. Flaked black paint on the glass read "Manager", and Sherlock knocked thrice on it again to be admitted.

There was more smoke in the office than in the rest of the building combined. Madeline recoiled from the stench and the various scantily clad women lying on various couches around the room and flirting with sparsely placed bodyguards; Sherlock didn't flinch at any of it. A lean man with tousled black hair reclined effortlessly in a chair behind the desk with his feet propped up on the marred wooden surface. When he saw Sherlock his face split into a wide grin and he swung his feet off the desk and rose to meet him.

"No- Sherlock Holmes back in my den? What the hell brought you here? You need another dose of somethin'?" He said in a heavy accent, twirling an unlit cigar between his fingers restlessly. Madeline stayed where she was as Sherlock walked forward and shook the dealer's hand.

"A pleasure to see you, Antonio." He said curtly. Antonio clapped him on the back and for a split second Madeline could see how little Sherlock cared for the contact.

"Like hell you are, that's a lie. You're here for another high, aren't you? Did work get too stressful?" Antonio said amicably. Madeline racked her brain to try and remember if Sherlock had told her what Antonio thought he did for a living. She couldn't remember anything and decided it was best to stay quiet like Sherlock had recommended.

"And who's this?" Antonio asked, pointing around the detective at Madeline.

"My assistant." Sherlock returned without missing a beat. Antonio gave her a cold look and scanned her uncomfortably.

"You had your doctor mate with you last time." He observed.

"Yes but he's proven to be insufficient." Sherlock responded tonelessly. "It seems drug smuggling went against his morals." Antonio scoffed and reached into his pocket. Madeline tensed apprehensively but Sherlock didn't flinch. The drug lord handed him a compact, hand rolled blunt and wiggled a lighter between two fingers.

"Here, your usual joint." He tossed Sherlock the lighter and smirked. The detective caught it with a polite smile and ignored Madeline's sharp look.

"Sir," She said in a squeaky voice, remembering that she was playing a nagging assistant and trying to steady her voice. "You probably shouldn't." Sherlock lit the cigarette between his lips and exhaled a small stream of smoke into the air.

"_Sir."_ Madeline said again, almost ready to tug on his coat to get his attention. "You can't return to work smelling like smoke, you'd be fired." She added quickly, trying to put together a coherent reason. After a second Sherlock sighed and dropped the cigarette on the office carpet carelessly, then smothered it with his shoe.

"Fair point." He said, turning back to Antonio. "That's why I keep her around." He said, doing his best to sound friendly. One of the body guards stepped forwards to pick up the butt Sherlock had ground into the carpet and dispose of it, but in a flash Antonio pulled a pistol from a drawer in the desk and shot the man through the neck as he straightened up. Madeline clapped her hands to her mouth to cover a shriek and jumped to the side as blood spurted from his neck and he fell to the ground in a bleeding heap. The women whimpered and the remaining two bodyguards herded them out of the office on cue, leaving Sherlock, Madeline, and Antonio.

"I didn't ask you to pick that up." Antonio snapped angrily at the body lying on the carpet, tapping his empty hand on the desk like he was playing the piano. Madeline blinked repeatedly to try and clear the image from her sight futilely. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a spatter of the man's blood on the white bandage around her left hand. She reproachfully removed her hands from her face and stared at them for a second, then shoved them both into her coat pockets. Sherlock regarded her for a second over his shoulder, checking her body language to assess her mental clarity. Antonio sighed and waved the gun around to diffuse the smoke still leaking from its barrel and began to tap the thumb and little finger of his free hand on the desk in an alternating rhythm.

"Sorry, it always sucks when the staff doesn't listen. Otherwise what do I pay them for? That was cute, by the way." He added, using the barrel of the gun instead of his finger to point at Madeline. She took a step back and Antonio's smile grew bigger. Sherlock stepped in between them purposefully.

"Antonio I'm here to discuss your posse of men who run your drugs all over London." He said coldly. The drug lord sighed and gently placed the gun on the table, meticulously straightening it until it looked perfect to him.

"What's wrong? Somebody not get you your shipment?" He asked, folding his hands behind his head like he hadn't just shot a man in cold blood.

"No, I'm attempting to stave off drugs with nicotine patches." Sherlock responded tonelessly. Antonio huffed a laugh and crossed his legs, Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"One of your men turned up dead in my vicinity. Explain." He demanded.

"I have lots of runners, I never know when one of them goes off the map." Antonio said, spreading his hands humorously. "What's it to you?"

"Yes, you care about them _so_ much." Sherlock observed coldly. "And I'm simply curious." He added. Madeline almost wanted to pull him back- he was enticing an unstable gangster who had already shown that he was capable of murder but seemed to have the situation under control. Antonio rolled his eyes and sighed.

"There are some people that decide to go clean, come out to the police and give away everything. You know how it is." He waved his hand dismissively in front of his face, tracing his pointer finger around the gun carefully and rearranging it again when he barely touched it.

"Sometimes we'll tie up loose ends and the like but it's too difficult to find new runners on the fly, you know?" Antonio's expression darkened suddenly and he leaned forward to brace his forearms on the desk. "Hold up- you think _I_ killed whoever died?" He asked dangerously, the strained civility bleeding out of his voice quickly.

"_Whom_ever." Sherlock corrected monotonously, "And no, but perhaps it was someone employed in your company." He pulled out his phone and pulled up a picture he'd taken of the body. "Do you recognize him?" He asked Antonio, reading his body language across the desk. Madeline shifted uncomfortably behind him and hoped John was still listening.

"I don't know him." Antonio said, "I know everyone I employ and I've never seen him."

"Excellent," Sherlock said. "So how much were you paying him? Was he smuggling cocaine or something more potent? He was obviously a businessman so perhaps a more refined drug your higher class customers can afford?"

"I said I don't know him." Antonio snapped. Sherlock smirked.

"Your hands have stopped moving. You're lying. So how long had he been in your employment? More specifically what did he do to earn your bad graces?" He inquired. Antonio scowled at him.

"Why are you asking?" The drug lord responded coldly. Sherlock rolled his eyes and made an impatient noise.

"Because a man was murdered and you're a large prime suspect. If you don't want your entire business raided by Scotland Yard and incarcerated." He said. "And why was there an apple sliver in his mouth?" Antonio stood from the desk and dangerously stalked around it to Sherlock. Madeline shifted backwards.

"You used to be an annoying private eye." He sneered, "So yeah we let you hang around and get some dope so you wouldn't go and tell to anyone." Madeline hoped John wasn't listening to Antonio spout what she hoped were lies about Sherlock's old addictions. "And now we see you in the papers." The drug lord continued, "A Class A detective working with Scotland Yard. So tell me-"He trailed his hand on the corner of the desk closer to the gun, and Madeline tensed. "Are you here just asking about my business because you're curious or are you asking to raise your next paycheck at the Yard?" Antonio added.

"I don't work for Scotland Yard," Sherlock said flatly. Madeline wiggled her fingers in her coat pocket tensely and started when her phone started vibrating loudly.

"Oh, and there was no apple." Antonio added smoothly. Madeline tried to silence her phone without taking it out of her pocket but ended up answering the call and putting it on speakerphone.

"_Come on, come on, let's go. Stand on the corner, he said. Simple drugs bust, he said." _John's voice echoed across the call. It sounded like he was muttering to himself, but everyone in the room heard it. Madeline quickly shut the call off and stuffed her phone back into her pocket, but the damage had already been done.

"Drugs bust." Antonio repeated, smirking and leaning against the desk nonchalantly. "So you are Scotland Yard's man. That's fine, you still owe me for that 2012 load of cannabis, I'll just take the check out on your ass now." He lazily reached for the gun on the desk, but Sherlock had already taken eight steps backwards and pushed Madeline to the office door. Antonio whipped the gun around and squeezed off a blind shot at Sherlock's head. The detective ducked and shoved Madeline through the door, then followed after her. They stumbled down the staircase as Antonio burst out of the office and fired another round down the stairs at them. The druggies on the mats and couches groggily shouted and tried to find cover, and the two German Shepherds jumped to their feet and began to bark loudly. Sherlock grabbed Madeline by the back of her jacket and forced her head down as they ran across the room and squeezed through the red door again. Antonio was shooting more bullets behind them, and Madeline could hear his two bodyguards cocking their own guns and rallying just inside the old maintenance shop. Sherlock pulled out his phone and speed-dialed John's number.

"John!" He shouted, checking over his shoulder to make sure Madeline was behind him and to see if Antonio was giving chase.

They were.

"John, have a cab ready at the corner!" He shouted into the phone, "We're on our way!" He stuck the device into his pocket and dragged Madeline after him. She could hear the German Shepherds growling as they grew closer, and other people on the street ran for cover as errant bullets whizzed past them and shattered shop and car windows. Sherlock pushed Madeline ahead of him and aimed his pistol over his shoulder at Antonio and fired. The shots went wide, but they made the drug lord and his two bodyguards lose pace to avoid them.

"Hurry up!" Sherlock barked to Madeline, easily matching pace with her again and passing her. They swung around the corner and onto the street they'd left John on. He was waiting there for them with a cab idling by the sidewalk. Sherlock shoved Madeline into the cab and John followed.

"Just go!" The doctor ordered the cabbie, the driver took one look in his rearview mirror and saw the angry men and dogs behind him and then tore away from the curb.

"What happened?" John asked as Madeline and Sherlock caught their breath and clutched at the stitches in their sides.

"I think I might've hung up the call." She said. "I put my hands in my pockets quickly so Antonio wouldn't see my hand." She gently folded her hands in her lap and John snatched her left wrist to inspect the splatter of red on the white bandage.

"Whose blood is this?" He demanded, "Sherlock?"

"No one's, just a bodyguard Antonio shot in front of us to assert his dominance." The detective responded between laborious breaths. Madeline's eyes snagged on a bullet hole in the detective's coat and she hurriedly pulled it off of him, much to his discontent and annoyance. After careful inspection she and John realized that the pulled had passed through the empty space in the coat underneath Sherlock's arm, not even grazing him in the slightest.

"Madeline take your medication." Sherlock reminded her. "It should be about time for your next dose and the experience was a bit more- tragic than I'd expected." Madeline dug out her pill bottle, she could already feel the strong adrenaline wearing off, and underneath it she could feel a cold pinprick stabbing at her chest that'd grow into a powerful depression swing if she didn't try to rein it in with her medicine.

"Explain what happened." John said calmly, breathing a little heavily himself out of excitement.

"Antonio confessed to the murder in all but words." Sherlock explained, "But he didn't know anything about the apple in the corpse's mouth."

"So it was put in after he was killed." Madeline murmured, taking her sky blue pills and almost gagging on their rancid taste. "So who put it there?" Sherlock scowled at his coat that was folded over his lap and plucked at the bullet hole on the sleeve.

"It's uncertain; but they knew that the man was going to be killed. Perhaps they had an agreement with Antonio and his gang as well?" He mused. Madeline skewed her lips to the side and frowned at her hands.

"Would you care to explain your history with Antonio?" She asked. Sherlock stared at the cabbie's seat ahead of him and still picked at the hole in his coat.

"Before I began taking on larger cases I would- loiter in his drug dens on the condition that I wouldn't reveal him to Scotland Yard. Needless to say nobody at Scotland Yard- excepting George- took me seriously anyway." He explained.

"Greg." Madeline said shortly. "And you accepted a joint from Antonio, though!" She added angrily. John sighed and rubbed his forehead in disappointment.

"You didn't."

"All for appearances." Sherlock snapped, rolling back his sleeve and tapping the four nicotine patches on his arm pointedly. Madeline frowned at the patches and leaned back in her seat.

"So if Antonio didn't put the apple in the man's mouth then who did?" She asked, quieting down and trying to avoid the red on the gauze wrapped around her hand.

"Maybe the person who put the apple piece there put the gang up to the murder." John suggested.

"To kill one of their own?" Madeline asked nervously. She hastily unwound the gauze from around her hand and stuffed it into her pocket. She gave the back of her left hand one glance and winced at the four scaly-looking pink scars that interlaced to carve an "M" onto her hand.

"If Antonio had a reason to dislike the victim then he wouldn't mind killing him; especially if the man gave him a free choice to choose whomever he wanted to kill." Sherlock interjected, mercifully not looking at Madeline's hand. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out with a frown.

"Gregory identified the corpse as Jason Leighs. He was a businessman for a banking company on the north side of London." The detective read off. "Antonio knows who I am and by default where Baker Street is." He added, "So when we get back we'll need to board up the windows."

"Why not tell Lestrade to send a squad out to investigate Antonio?" Madeline suggested. "Then he won't be able to come after us."

"Under what charges?" Sherlock responded flatly.

"Attempted manslaughter," John supplied. "Running a drug ring. You name it." Sherlock tapped on his phone a couple of times and sent the message to Lestrade.

"There, simple enough." He affirmed, tucking his phone back into his pocket. The cab slowed to a stop in front of the Baker Street apartments and Sherlock and Madeline climbed out.

"I'll see the two of you tomorrow after my shift." John told them through the window. "Do tell Mrs. Hudson she needs to remember to lock her doors- just in case." Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed the door open, striding into the landing at the bottom of the stairs with his coat draped over his arm.

"Mrs. Hudson!" He shouted down the hall. "Be sure to keep your windows shut and your door locked, we've attracted another possible murderer." The landlady bustled out of her flat with her hand splayed across her collarbone.

"Oh Sherlock not again." She scolded him. The detective shrugged and continued up the stairs to 221 B. Madeline waved at Mrs. Hudson and then followed after him.

"How quickly do you think Lestrade can send men over to Antonio's drug den?" Madeline asked, hanging her coat up by the door and snagging Sherlock's coat from him as he passed her.

"I'd fix that bullet hole but I can't sew." She commented.

"Then why offer?" Sherlock returned, leaning behind his armchair to pull out his violin, then put it back and strode into the kitchen to tinker around with an experiment. Madeline skewed her lips again and powered up the laptop nestled among a nest of old papers and random objects.

"How do you feel about a new case?" She asked. "I'd rather you have one to work on when you're ready instead of coming back from work and finding the wall full of bullet holes." Sherlock clicked his flint spark lighter to light a Bunsen burner in the kitchen and ignored her.

"There's a string of pickpockets around East London." Madeline suggested, scrolling through the job requests on John's blog that he updated periodically about his misadventures with Madeline and Sherlock. The detective grunted apathetically.

"Yeah, I don't think we should go near East London for a while." Madeline affirmed, "What about this one? An heiress murder in a rich household just outside of town in the countryside. A maid and a butler were killed, too." She read off.

"Probably a three man job between the maid, butler, and another person to kill the heiress and usurp the fortune. Check with the gardener or maybe the cook." Sherlock retorted.

"Then what kind of case do you want?" Madeline asked. "It'd be easier if you'd look on here and choose one you like instead of shooting everything down." Sherlock hummed dismissively.

"No, I'm busy." He said. Madeline huffed and shut the computer down.

"When you finish you can find yourself a case." She told him. "I'm going to go change out of my secretary uniform." Sherry followed her owner back down the hall and into John's old room. Sherlock puffed his cheeks out in concentration as he kept adding small drops of sulfuric acid to a beaker of solvent. Madeline came back out of her room in comfortable jeans and a hoodie with an attention-starved Sherry on her heels. Madeline laced her fingers together and placed her hands palm inwards on the back of Sherlock's neck, letting her elbows drape over his shoulders. Sherlock growled in irritation and refrained from adding another drop of the acid to the beaker.

"You're disrupting my concentration." He complained. Madeline smirked and leaned on his shoulders more.

"My bad, Mr. Holmes." She teased, getting up and taking a seat across the table from him and tucking her legs underneath herself. After a second she got up and grabbed a new white roll of gauze from under the counter and methodically wrapped the bandage around her left hand until she was satisfied that it covered the scars. Sherlock's eyes followed the roll of gauze as it spun around her hand, then went back to work as Madeline bit the edge of the gauze to tear it and tucked the loose end under one of the already wrapped layers. Madeline grabbed a file of work papers and took her seat again across from Sherlock. She began to sort through the data transcripts, grouping them by hospital and then by chronological date.

"You're misplacing those papers." Sherlock observed calmly, nodding his head at the now miscellaneous stacks of paper that had spread themselves almost all the way across the table. Sherlock glared at a DNA report that had come dangerously close to his workstation and considered lighting it on fire. Madeline quickly gathered her papers and tapped them together with a sheepish smile.

"Sorry, I guess I can't concentrate." She said nervously. Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, turning down the flame on his Bunsen burner to conserve fuel.

"Does Antonio truly scare you that much?" He asked tonelessly. Madeline smiled falsely and nodded, crinkling the edges of the papers in her hands slightly.

"Don't fret about it, that's a ridiculous waste of time and energy." Sherlock snapped to her. "If Lestrade does his job properly for once Antonio won't be a problem, nor will his gang."

"And if not?" Madeline ventured, not really wanting to hear the alternate scenario. Sherlock sighed like the conversation wasn't worth his time and rubbed at his temples.

"We've already established this. He's not going to get back here, you're not in any danger, get it through your skull. You're being ridiculously paranoid." He remarked. Madeline smiled at the papers and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Go to bed," He snapped, "I thought you had work tomorrow." Madeline wrinkled her nose at the mention of her lab at St. Bart's and stood from the table abruptly. She gathered her papers and crammed them back into her folder before smiling at Sherlock and leaving for John's bedroom. Sherry trailed after her flippantly with her tail flicking in the air behind her. Sherlock scoffed at the cat and turned back to his experiment, turning up the flame on the Bunsen burner to bring the acid to a boil. He did his best to air out the acrid stench that filled the flat with the smell of burning sulfur but had the nagging feeling that it would still be there in the morning.

**A.N.- So yes, a little bit of action and a little bit of fluff- all the lovely things in life. Sorry I had to wait so long before posting this, I had severe writer's block.**

**I met Vic Mignogna.**

**I told him about early college.**

**I IMPRESSED HIM.**

**I IMPRESSED VIC MIGNOGNA! (He's an actor.)**

**Just thought I should share, I'm totally still on air about it.**

**Reviews are welcome! I feel like the quality of this sequel is a little patchy.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N.- I'm so sorry it took so long, I just couldn't seem to get the words out to work on this. But I did get some kickass fanart so thanks for that!**

**Grace- Thanks, I kind of tend to lose faith after my first story for a topic is out so the sequel turns out a bit shoddy so I guess I was just paranoid. Thank you for your support, I actually checked BBC's website just for kicks but they don't have any jobs open. (That would be the most boss-ass job EVER.)**

**Cat- Thank you! Yeah Vic was super impressed and I literally barely made it out of the autograph room and had to stop hyperventilating. He's a really sweet guy and does everything he can to be friendly to his fans and make them less nervous. ^_^**

**ArisuTamaZuki- Thank you, if you like the story so far then you're gonna love this. *evil laugh***

The Dame of Baker Street 2: Mind Games, Ch. 3

"Ugh stupid folding patterns." Madeline muttered, scribbling small notes on the paperwork beside her microfuge machine. She'd worked through almost all of the DNA analyses for the day, and she was ready to pull her hair out from sheer boredom.

"If you don't want to do your job here are other samples for you to run." Sherlock said from the doorway to her lab. Madeline started and slammed her hand on the table.

"People need to quit startling me in here." She snapped, spinning to face him. "I swear I'm going to put locks on the door." Sherlock smirked and waved a collection of small evidence bags at her and eyed the uneaten sandwich on her counter.

"You say that but you never will. I opted to take the young heiress case." He said swiftly, "Here are hair and skin samples from the maid, the butler, and the woman who was murdered." Madeline took the bag from him and laid it beside her work files.

"I'll get to them when I finish with these." She said, nodding at the papers in front of her. Sherlock scoffed and peered at the paper she was writing on.

"You're writing useless notes in the margins. If you're going to do your job do it correctly or you're as useful as Scotland Yard." He commented. Madeline whistled quietly.

"Ouch, thanks. If it's that important of a case then I can go ahead and take a break; although I don't know why you brushed the case off earlier and care so much about it now." She retorted.

"The more I looked into the case the more it interested me." Sherlock snapped, "It's nothing remarkable- just a multi-million pound fortune's heiress showing up dead in her parlor." Madeline turned to him and gave him her full attention.

"So do you know how she died yet?" Madeline asked, Sherlock gave her a patronizing look and smirked.

"But of course, it was a simple poisoning. Rat poison spread around the rim of the lady's teacup. Then when she tilted her cup to drink the tea and her saliva reactivated the dried rat poison. Quick and simple poisoning, didn't take much planning. The biggest problem after the murder would be to escape suspicion since the mad and the butler were the lady's only constant servants." He explained in one breath. Madeline folded her hands over each other and frowned.

"You keep calling her 'the lady'. Who was she, Sherlock? At least call her by her name." She requested. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"No she legitimately was a Lady, as in Sir or Lady." He said, his smile grew bigger when he saw Madeline's eyes widen. "Lady Alice Roachford." He added, "Sole young heiress to her family's fortune."

"Wow, that seems like a great reason to kill." Madeline said, Sherlock gave her a curious glance and nodded.

"It's an intense prerogative. But my interest is in the third party." Sherlock said.

"What makes you think there's a third person?" Madeline asked, "You said the maid and butler had been with her the longest."

"Yes, and if you had been listening before you would remember that I suspected a third person involved." Sherlock snapped. "Perhaps someone prominent enough to be in the same social class as Lady Roachford but removed enough to not be suspected of having a hand in her murder."

"Who then?" Madeline asked, "I don't know about any famous people or businessmen. I'll leave that to you."

"Are you going to run those or not?" Sherlock asked, eyeing the samples he'd given her. "I think I have a good idea who the third person could be." Madeline nodded and went about setting up the microfuge tubes, gathering things from cabinets as she went.

"Who?" She asked absently, setting up an agarose base. Sherlock commandeered her empty stool and steepled his fingers in front of his face.

"A- businessman named Charles Magnussen." He murmured. "He's well known for being very well connected in high society. I make a point not to deal with him."

"Really? Why? I thought you weren't afraid of anyone." Madeline teased, inserting the first completed microfuge tube into the spinner and staining a cell sample bright purple.

"Because he is the kind of person who exploits anything and everything about people. He's dangerous, and I've no tolerance to entangle myself with someone who has so many strings stretched over the world. At least not yet." Sherlock said, watching her examine the cells under the microscope and sketch them out roughly. She pulled the first tube out of the microfuge spinner and shook it slightly, then slid a second one in and started up the machine again.

"So you're waiting to confront him." She summarized. Sherlock shrugged and stared intensely at the empty counter space in front of him.

"When the inevitable moment presents itself I shall." He allowed, "I have a feeling it might be a confrontation sometime in the near future."

"Wow, I never thought you'd procrastinate on a case." Madeline said, pulling out the next tube and handing it to Sherlock. He inspected it and frowned.

"I'm not procrastinating." He snapped, "I'm biding my time."

"Ah," Madeline said sarcastically. "Of course." She kept working for a few more minutes in silence before speaking again.

"Do you know if John is working a shift here today or at the clinic?" She asked. Sherlock shrugged dismissively and rolled the microfuge tube between two fingers vindictively. Madeline sighed and tried to initiate conversation again.

"So did Lestrade ever get Antonio and his gang?" She asked.

"No," Sherlock said, placing the microfuge tube in a water bath on the other side of the room to regulate its temperature. "They'd long since cleared out by the time Scotland Yard arrived." Madeline fidgeted with the vial in her hands and almost dropped it.

"So what do we do?" She asked, putting the tube on ice so she could sit and talk. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Go about life normally. He's not going to come anywhere near here for a good while." He said.

"But what about when he _does_?" Madeline said pointedly. "People have broken into the flats before, what's to keep a crazy drug lord from doing the same?" Sherlock drummed his fingers on the lab table rhythmically.

"It'd be nice if you'd have a little faith." He snapped, "If you feel that insecure about it then feel free to board up your bedroom windows. He won't be coming back anytime soon, and if the notion ever crosses his mind to antagonize us we'll deal with him when the time comes." Madeline made an unimpressed noise and went back to work, then finally gave Sherlock his data.

"Here, although I don't know how you'd use this. The hairs have been visibly yanked from someone's head, the follicle is still attached." She pointed out. "Did you pull the hairs out of the maid and butlers' heads just to come mess with me?" Sherlock made a miffed sound.

"Of course not, that's a waste of time." He said.

"Right. Well lucky for me my time to be wasted is all gone anyway. Would you do me the honor of walking me home?" Madeline asked dramatically, extending her arm in mock chivalry and glancing at Sherlock. He rolled his eyes and pushed her ahead of him out of the lab. Madeline ducked under his arm and snatched her sandwich from the counter, then followed him out of St. Bart's. They had awful luck hailing a cab and decided to opt out of taking the tube and being buffeted by the underground crowd. Sherlock and Madeline set off towards Baker Street on foot while an awkward silence stretched between them ominously. It was a long walk, but Madeline didn't mind. She walked to work and back almost every day. When they were almost back to Baker Street she gasped like something had startled her, drawing a suspicious look from Sherlock.

"The geese!" She said excitedly, feeling mania creep through her system with a happy rush of endorphins that made her feel like laughing.

"What about them?" Sherlock asked. Madeline sucked in a happy breath that to Sherlock sounded like someone had punctured her lung.

"Look! They haven't flown south yet!" She pointed past the trees and bushes into Regent's Park, where they could see the geese lazily paddling across the surface of the pond.

"Sherlock let's go feed them!"

"No, that's ridiculous. And what would you feed them with?"

"I have the bread from my sandwich." Madeline said, pulling her lunch from her bag.

"No." Sherlock deadpanned.

"Fine, I'll feed them. You go back home and try not to burn anything down." Madeline huffed. Sherlock gave her an exasperated look and continued back to the flat alone. Madeline rolled her eyes and tramped into the park. There was a small wrought iron bench by the pond, and she flopped onto it with a reinstated grin. The geese paid absolutely no attention to her until she tore a piece of bread from her sandwich and threw it to the edge of the water. One goose snatched the bread into its mouth and curiously stepped out of the water, so she threw it another piece. The bird stepped closer to inspect the bread and two other geese flanked it. They hissed at each other lowly before one of them picked up the bread and tossed its head back to swallow it. Madeline watched the geese in rapt fascination as her mind spun with random and colorful ideas brought on by her mania.

"Feeding the geese?" Someone asked kindly, taking a seat to her right on the bench.

"Yeah, I'm glad they haven't flown away yet." Madeline responded, tossing another piece of bread to the birds without looking at the visitor.

"May I?" The stranger asked, holding their hand out for a piece of bread. Madeline tore a piece off then gave it to them, and they tossed it to the nearest goose and pushed their glasses back up their nose briefly.

"Do you come here often?" The stranger asked. Madeline shrugged her shoulders and tossed the entire bottom half of the sandwich bread to the geese. They flocked around it and hissed and honked at each other while they each scrambled for a piece.

"I live right around the corner." Madeline answered absently. "I saw the geese and wanted to stop by."

"So you must be Miss Madeline Carver." The stranger said. She jerked her gaze away from the geese and looked at the visitor for the first time. He had a thin but neatly trimmed beard and wore spectacles that Madeline wasn't sure were ovular or circular. His most offsetting aspects, however were his eyes. They were steely blue and reserved. They almost reminded Madeline of Sherlock's eyes sometimes when the detective began to delve into his mind palace. Or of Moriarty's when he used to toy with people. The stranger huffed a small laugh and extended his hand to her.

"Sorry, terribly unprofessional to not introduce myself." He said. "Charles Magnussen, a pleasure." Madeline had already reached out to shake his hand by the time his name registered in her mind. Her hand twitched to the side for a second before Magnussen caught it and shook it firmly. His mouth smiled pleasantly but his eyes remained cold and calculating. Madeline took her hand back as soon as she could and placed it uneasily in her lap.

"What's that on your hand?" Magnussen asked, pointing casually at the gauze on Madeline's left hand. She pressed her palm flat onto the metal slat of the bench so that the white strip was hidden from Magnussen's view. Her mania swing was ebbing into a prey's terror. Sherlock's cautions about Magnussen kept flitting through her heads like errant butterflies. She could feel her pulse accelerating. Magnussen smiled politely and crossed his legs, then clasped his hands over his knee in a professional way.

"You live in the Baker Street flats, correct?" He asked, although to Madeline it sounded more like a statement than a question. She pressed her elbows to her sides and tried to collapse herself inwards and inch away from Magnussen.

"Yes." She squeaked. Charles sighed and reclined on the bench.

"Well it's quite a pleasure to meet the woman so often in the tabloids." He said with a vague glimpse of humor. Madeline smiled a little tensely and rubbed the inside of her wrist on the seam of her jeans. Magnussen smiled at the geese milling around in front of the bench, waiting for the prospect of more bread.

"Does your flatmate drag you into his line of work often?" He asked. Madeline grimaced and tried to maintain a steady face. _He's the kind of person who exploits anything and everything about people._ Sherlock had said. Madeline exhaled a shallow but steady breath, and thought over her answers carefully to make sure she didn't give Magnussen a hand up on Sherlock.

"Only a little bit." She said, shrugging her shoulders aimlessly for effect. "He works a lot and sometimes sets fire to the apartment but he's fine. Not that hard to live with actually." Charles arched an eyebrow at her suddenly and Madeline panicked at the notion that she'd revealed something.

"You said apartment. So you are an American?" He asked. Madeline bit her lip and nodded hesitantly. He'd probably already gleaned the information from the news or other media.

"Yeah," She added after the businessman didn't seem to hear her. He nodded and smiled kindly.

"How is he faring anyway? And what of Dr. Watson and his new wife?" He asked. Madeline could feel her strict smile bend into a frown. She definitely wasn't going to divulge anything about John and Mary- that was too far.

"They're fine." She said stiffly. Magnussen noticed her change in expression and smiled kindly again.

"I know it wouldn't be my place to pry, but are you sure you should continue living in the same flat as Mr. Holmes?" He asked suddenly. Madeline turned to look at him out of surprise, although it shouldn't have really come as a shock. Magnussen smiled and shrugged.

"He's a dangerous person." He said simply. Madeline huffed a short laugh.

"Funny, he said the same about you." She said before she could catch herself. It was all she could do to keep from clapping her hands over her mouth out of betrayal.

"Ah, there you are. You were supposed to be back at the flat ten minutes ago." Sherlock said loudly. Out of the corner of her eye Madeline could see him walking briskly towards her with his coat flaring behind him. Either he hadn't made much progress since he'd left Madeline at the edge of the park or he'd hung around awkwardly to deliberate joining her. As soon as he reached them Madeline stood up and edged away from the bench. Magnussen stood and extended his hand past Madeline to Sherlock.

"Charles Magnussen." The businessman said cordially. Sherlock eyed his hand disdainfully.

"I'm aware of who you are." He snapped. Magnussen slowly retracted his hand and stuck it in his pocket. Madeline nervously looked between the two of them and took a step back.

"Miss Carver I can smell something burning from here. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson has decided to cook again." Sherlock said pointedly, still staring at Magnussen. "Go back to the flat and make sure she doesn't burn any adjoining buildings down." Madeline took one step backwards and looked to Sherlock for confirmation. He gave her a scalding look, then she turned and took short, harried steps back to Baker Street. She gave one look over her shoulder before she left the park and saw Sherlock and Charles sitting on the little bench and _talking_. It was obvious Sherlock wasn't pleased, but Magnussen seemed to maintain a pleasant demeanor. Madeline inhaled sharply and continued back to the flats. When she got there John and his wife Mary were waiting for them in 221 B's living room. Mary had her hand resting protectively on her large stomach, obviously pregnant. Madeline hung her coat by the door and flopped onto Sherlock's chair.

"A hello would be welcome." Mary said good-naturedly. Madeline waved her hand at them errantly and jumped up from the couch.

"Where's Sherlock?" John asked. Madeline paced back and forth in front of the windows nervously, peeking out of them randomly at the street below.

"He's over in Regent's Park." She answered, tapping the toe of her foot impatiently on the ground behind her with her heel in the air. John raised an eyebrow curiously.

"Why's he out there? He'd never go out among the populous in full sunlight." He jibed, sharing a smile with Mary. Madeline crossed her arms and kept pacing in front of the window.

"I went out there to feed geese and he sent me back here." She said shortly.

"That's not a very good explanation." Mary interjected. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not." Madeline answered. "He sent me away so he could talk to Charles Magnussen."

"Who?" John asked. Mary stood up suddenly and bustled to the kitchen, her hand protectively splayed over the bottom part of her belly.

"Who's Charles Magnussen?" John repeated.

"Tea, honey?" Mary called from the kitchen. John gave Madeline a flat look, but she was still looking out the window anxiously. She exhaled when she saw Sherlock striding down the street with his coat flapping behind him. Mary stepped out of the kitchen with a tea tray balanced between her hands. John seemed impressed that she'd found the materials to make tea instead of boric acid in the cupboard. Sherlock pushed the door open and strode directly to his chair. Madeline frowned and sat in her chair across from him.

"What happened?" She asked, but Sherlock was already in his mind palace. Mary handed Madeline a teacup and left another cup beside Sherlock. She gave John his teacup and sat on the arm of his chair. Madeline sat in her chair and nervously tapped her fingers on her thigh.

"Sherlock," She said impatiently, "What happened?" The detective withdrew from his mind palace strenuously and gave her a strict glare.

"Just business." He said irritably. "Nothing for you to be concerned with." Madeline pressed her lips together and frowned.

"You looked pretty angry." She observed. "I wish you'd tell me what happened." She added wistfully. Sherlock rolled his eyes at her ploy.

"No, quit prying. It's unbecoming." He responded. She frowned and sat back in her chair while John gave the detective a firm glare.

"Sherlock, who is Magnussen?" He asked. The detective's eyes flicked briefly over Mary and John and then focused on the wall behind them.

"Just a business partner," He said simply. "We were discussing my latest case." John nodded contentedly and Mary sipped her tea. Madeline's frown deepened into a scowl as she crossed her arms, but Sherlock sent her a steely look that seemed to promise an explanation later so she uncrossed her arms and chatted with John and Mary.

John was so heavily requested that he was bouncing shifts between clinics and Mary was thoroughly enjoying putting together the baby's nursery with splashes of turquoise, pink, and purple. She seemed dead set on the idea that her child would be a girl while John didn't seem to care- he was just excited to be a father. The couple sat and talked eagerly with Madeline while Sherlock remained in his chair and gave a pained smile whenever someone looked at him to pretend that he was listening. When John saw the clock and realized what time it was he hugged Madeline and nodded at Sherlock before ushering Mary out the door. As soon as they had left Madeline spun around from the door and all but dove back into her chair. She waited for Sherlock's explanation expectantly

"There's no need to worry unnecessarily. We just talked." Sherlock stated. Madeline rolled her eyes and frowned.

"Yeah and I fed sandwich bread to a bald eagle."

"A horrible metaphor." Sherlock snapped.

"Spur of the moment patriotism," She responded.

"You've lived here for almost four years. You're not an American citizen anymore." He observed patronizingly.

"Red white and blue." Madeline countered. "Tell me what you talked about." Sherlock scoffed like an explanation was beneath him and rolled his eyes.

"I wasn't lying we just spoke about the case. I wasn't expecting the confrontation to be so soon but you seem to delight in making my job more difficult." He said pointedly. Madeline huffed and hauled a passing Sherry into her lap.

"I thought he was a suspect." She pointed out, "Did you interrogate him at all?"

"No," Sherlock snapped, getting up from his chair and rummaging in the kitchen. "I need more nicotine patches." He complained, aiming a sharp glance at the back of Madeline's head. She sighed heavily and walked into the kitchen. She went straight to the cabinet to the left of the sink and pulled out the box of pharmacy brand nicotine patches. Sherlock quickly snatched the box and yanked his sleeve up, then slapped the new patch onto his forearm. Madeline eyed the neat row of nicotine patches lined up on the detective's skin and frowned, crossing her arms and adopting a tight expression.

"Oh look, he's all drugged up again." Mycroft Holmes said from the doorway. Sherlock pulled his sleeve back down and buttoned the cuff nonchalantly. Madeline pressed her lips together and said nothing.

"I'd suggest you add another." Mycroft said snarkily, "It makes you so much easier to deal with."

"That's too many." Madeline interjected quickly, "That'll kill him." The older brother gave her a withering glance and sat himself in John's chair.

"Just a joke." He said dismissively, crossing his legs pompously and leaning his umbrella against the chair's arm. Sherlock scowled and reclaimed his chair and Madeline went back to hers. She wasn't pleased to be sitting next to Mycroft but amused herself by staring at her knees.

"So you've decided to get mixed up with Charles Magnussen." Mycroft said to Sherlock.

"Actually it was Miss Carver's fault." Sherlock pointed out. Madeline narrowed her eyes at him for throwing her under the bus so nonchalantly. Mycroft turned his irritated glare on her and Madeline felt herself sink backwards into the chair in an effort to shy away from him. Mycroft and Sherlock rolled their eyes in synchronization and then glared at each other.

"I hope you know that you were downright foolish by taking the heiress' case." Mycroft said flatly.

"Her name was Alice Roachford." Madeline muttered to the floor. The older brother cut her a sharp glance but Sherlock drummed his fingers loudly and impatiently on the arm of his chair.

"And why was I 'downright foolish' oh dearest brother?" He asked snarkily.

"Because Charles Magnussen is dangerous. He's not someone you need to be trifling with and botching up our operations. We can't control him." Mycroft snapped.

"Why not get a warrant and arrest him?" Madeline suggested, almost wanting to wince at the sickly sweet grin Mycroft had plastered to his face.

"Oh of course. You and your American politics. Go in with a paper and guns and fix everything. Magnussen's strength isn't in manpower, it's in what he knows." He said. Madeline pulled a passing Sherry into her lap and stroked the cat nervously, automatically tuning out the banter of Sherlock and Mycroft arguing in the background. An earsplitting shriek stabbed at her ears and she looked up to see Sherlock with all of his fingers on his violin's neck as far away from the wooden scroll as possible. The result was a high note that he played over and over again until Mycroft growled and made his way to the door.

"Leave him alone, Sherlock." The older brother warned. "He has too many connections in too many classes and groups- perhaps even more than Moriarty had." Sherlock didn't seem to hear him, he kept repetitively drawing his bow over the "E" string on his violin to solicit the same high pitched note until Mycroft rolled his eyes and was serenaded out of the flat.

"Sherlock! Could you play something nicer or quieter?" Mrs. Hudson called from the bottom of the stairs as Mycroft passed her. "It's such a loud racket I can't hear my rugby match." Sherlock played a patronizing little four-note tune loudly down the stairwell at Mycroft's back and then spun back inside his flat and slammed the door behind him.

"So Magnussen is worse than Moriarty." Madeline said as she bustled about the flat and prepared her things for the next morning. She stuck all of her folders into her bag and tossed it into her chair, then made a quick sandwich and placed it in the refrigerator between what looked like a jar of slowly deflating eyes and a pus-filled spleen. She gently unwrapped the gauze from her hand and stuffed it in her jacket pocket to rewrap the next morning and frowned at Sherlock, who'd immediately gone back to his chair and was twirling his violin bow between his fingers aimlessly.

"I've got it solved." He mused, "But Mycroft is being such a git that he won't allow a prosecution."

"Because he said he's dangerous." Madeline reminded him, gently pulling Sherry out of John's chair and brushing off the few hairs her cat had left behind. "I mean he knew who we were-"

"Who doesn't?" Sherlock snapped, "The bloody press keeps interfering with my work." Madeline perched delicately on the arm of John's chair with Sherry leaning against her chest.

"I think Magnussen is more dangerous than you're letting on." She guessed. "You said that he knew things about people and exploited them. Is that what Mycroft meant by saying that he was uncontrollable?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and stopped twirling his violin bow. Instead he pointed it at Madeline and jabbed it at her irritably.

"Go to bed," He snapped. "You already shot a criminal." Madeline furrowed her brow at the sudden allusion to Jim Moriarty and let Sherry leap from her arms onto the floor.

"So he's a criminal." She murmured. "He introduced himself as a businessman today." Sherlock's eyes snapped up and narrowed.

"That's another thing." He said scaldingly. "Don't just speak to random strangers you meet in the park. He could have been a member of Antonio's gang."

"So you still think there's a chance Antonio could get to us." Madeline pointed out. Sherlock grimaced and jabbed his violin bow at her again, although it wasn't long enough to reach her.

"You'll be fine, worrying will just make you lose sleep." He said out of annoyance.

"I'm not worrying about me, what about Mrs. Hudson?" Madeline asked, trying to maintain her annoyance while Sherlock acted like the world's only consulting moody teenager. The detective rolled his eyes and sighed strenuously.

"Everything will be fine. The more you fret about ridiculous scenarios the more irritating you become. Go to bed already." He snapped. Madeline pushed off of John's armrest and kissed the detective on the temple. He tensed unnecessarily before her lips even touched him, still not one-hundred percent comfortable with the idea of human contact in a relationship.

"Night." Madeline told him, clicking with her tongue softly to call Sherry. The fat calico cat dashed from somewhere in the kitchen and streaked to Madeline's bedroom, eager to sleep more than she already did in the daytime. Sherlock waited until Madeline's door had closed to slowly sink into his mind palace and think.

. . .

He was still in his mind palace when Madeline skidded into the living room with one arm in her shirt and the other still trapped against her side. She quickly finished pulling her shirt on and grabbed her bag, coat, and lunch, almost knocking over the decomposing spleen in its Ziploc container. Sherlock jerked out of his mind palace and watched her scurry around the flat to grab her things, then shout goodbye to him as she ran down the stairs two at a time (he could tell because of the frequency of her footsteps and the muffled curse she let out when she missed the bottom stair). Sherry eyed the detective distastefully as soon as her owner had left, no doubt wary that Sherlock would try to use some of her fur or whiskers for experiments again.

He groaned for the sole purpose of complaining and stood from his chair, allowing a fleeting smirk to run across his face when Sherry ran back to Madeline's bedroom. Sherlock debated pulling out the laptop to look for a case to occupy himself with while he tried to figure out a way to find and apprehend Magnussen but forfeited the idea under the memory of Mycroft's smug grin and decided just to work on experiments while he thought.

The detective pulled out his lab equipment, then grabbed the lovely spleen from the fridge that had been putrefying excellently over the last week. He cut a small sample from the organ and gently slid it into a Petri dish, then lit the Bunsen burner. He gently held the sample over the flame and watched the organ piece slowly steam and shrink. He sniffed it delicately then dipped it in an agarose fluid and waved it around lazily while he waited for the agarose to create a thin layer of gel on top of the sample. Then he turned the piece gently over the Bunsen burner like he was roasting food while camping until the gel had dried like children's glue. The detective then used a sterile pair of forceps to gently peel the dried agarose from the spleen sample. He looked at the agarose sheet with its replica of the organ's cells and frowned. He walked to the windows lining the wall of the flat that faced the street and held the agarose up to the light and inspected it closely. He heard the door open behind him and sighed.

"You forgot your gloves and scarf, they're on your chair." He said without turning back around. When Madeline didn't answer him he turned around and wasn't too surprised to see Antonio standing there instead.

"I don't need a fix, thanks very much." The detective said snarkily, acting like he was inspecting the cell copy in front of his face but never truly taking his eyes off of Antonio. The drug lord's eye twitched twice and he frowned.

"I'd love to just strangle you, you prick." He growled at Sherlock, who just gave a tight smile in return. "But Magnussen said that's not my job." He swiftly pulled a small handgun from behind his back and aimed it at Sherlock, who dropped the forceps and tightened his jaw.

"Surprise, bitch." Antonio said, pulling the trigger. Sherlock felt a pressure on his chest like someone was poking him roughly, but then the slight pressure erupted into a searing pain that quickly spread through his body like a shockwave. He could see Antonio smirking behind the gun and could feel the anger that was erupting through his chest and following close behind the pain from the bullet wound.

"Try not to get blood everywhere." Antonio said coldly, turning and leaving the flat without another word. Sherlock could feel a jolt rack his body as his back collided with the floor, which did nothing to get rid of the pain.

**A.N.- He had to get shot, sorry. That's just how my little dramatic self works. So sorry. **

**I should have a new one up soon so don't panic.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N.- Here's a new chapter. If anyone has any ideas or something to say feel free to add me on SnapChat jade-author (Haha… I'm so lonely…)**

**Grace- Thank you, it makes me happy when I put people in cardiac arrest. XD Yeah under suggestion in the original DBS I looked at their site and did again a few weeks ago. I mean if I'm in college I'm gonna need a job, right? Actually it's really funny because you can't get paid for a job by the standard rate at 14 so I'm finally allowed to have a real job and get paid for it. Who knows? I'd absolutely love to leave the US and work for BBC.**

**A notice- Madeline and John are more stern in Sherlock's mind palace because that's what he needs to actually survive. So excuse the OOC-ness por favore. ^_^**

**Enjoy!**

The Dame of Baker Street 2: Mind Games, Ch. 4

"Sherlock Holmes! What do you think you're doing?" Someone said sharply, the detective's eyes snapped open but he couldn't see. He blinked the darkness away from his vision finally but didn't see the ceiling of his flat. Instead he saw the familiar ceiling of his mind palace.

"What. Do you think. You're. Doing?" The voice repeated. With tremendous effort Sherlock pushed himself onto his hands and knees and looked up. Madeline stared him down with her arms crossed and her brow furrowed. She looked downright furious.

"Get up- no on second thought don't get up. You've been shot." She said, her voice jumping to a squeaky pitch before dropping back down. "John and I will be back soon from Bart's." She continued, "So try to hang on until then." Her voice had a rare, sharp, no-nonsense edge to it; one of the traits Sherlock appreciated in her and had magnified in the Madeline-shaped mind palace apparition standing before him.

"I need you to shut your mind up. Close everything off in your mind palace. Go to a safe place in here or something. You need to stay conscious until one of us can get to you and help you." Madeline instructed. Sherlock staggered to his feet with one hand clasped firmly over the searing pain in his chest, although he didn't see a visible bullet wound.

"Sherlock, think. Where are you safest in your mind palace?" John asked, suddenly stepping beside Madeline and folding his arms over each other. "We won't be able to get to you for another couple of minutes, our shifts ended eight minutes ago and we'll be back soon. Just hang in there." He said.

"Holmes you need to focus." Another voice said. Sherlock looked up and scowled at Lestrade.

"What are you doing here, get out of my mind palace." The detective bit out. Lestrade shook his head like he was disappointed and Madeline held out her hand to Sherlock, but when she put her hand on his shoulder he felt nothing.

"Come on, you're bleeding and running out of time." She said matter-of-factly. "You know your mind palace. Find your safe place and we'll follow you to it." Sherlock staggered forward and leaned against the wall to catch his breath as another wave of pain ripped through his body and made his hands and feet feel like they were buzzing with a painful electric current.

Sherlock dragged himself up the stairs in his mind palace, berating himself for making the place so expansive. John, Madeline, and Lestrade trailed behind him, waiting patiently as he struggled up the stairs.

"For heaven's sake, Sherlock- don't ruin your clothes. Get up off the ground." Mycroft said, leaning against the banister of the stairs with his umbrella hooked over his arm and a disdainful look on his face. Sherlock glared at his brother and waved his free hand at him to push him aside, but found that he couldn't touch him. The detective pushed past him and stumbled down another hall. When he looked behind him he saw only John and Madeline.

"Get to your safe room." John urged him, "We can't help you if you're dead." Sherlock began to lose feeling in his fingertips as he pushed through a library filled with case files and slipped into a broom closet that had spiraling steps leading downwards into darkness. Sherlock fell rather than walked down the stairs and crawled to the titanium-welded door affixed to the wall.

"Sherlock we can't follow you in there." Madeline said firmly, but her voice sounded like it was underwater. The detective found it harder and harder to breathe, and every breath he inhaled made a ghastly rattling sound like there was water in his lungs.

"Sherlock!" Madeline screamed suddenly, breaking out of the strict demeanor Sherlock had mentally assigned her in his mind palace and sounding more like herself. She sounded like she was far away, and when Sherlock turned around again John and Madeline were both gone. He could feel his body rotating slightly, almost like someone was rocking or shaking him. Sherlock painstakingly pried the door open and staggered inside, using his weight to pull the door shut behind him when his legs gave out.

"Oooh, look who it is. It seems you can't let things go, Sherlock." A cold voice crooned. Sherlock rolled over and gawked at Jim Moriarty, who grinned back at him.

"I'm so honored you kept me in your mind palace, but it seems you've replaced me with new enemies. That hurts." The consulting criminal pouted. He was sitting against the far wall in a dark suit with his hands clasped over his knee in a friendly way. He nodded his head to the other wall, and Sherlock saw Magnussen standing there and polishing his glasses on his shirt.

"Get out of here." Sherlock gasped, "You're not-"Magnussen stepped forward and delivered a swift kick to Sherlock's chest, sending another paralyzing wave of agony through the detective's body. He could feel his chest crumpling inwards and could see his vision glitch like an awry television set. Moriarty stood beside Magnussen and leaned over Sherlock.

"You're really going to give up that easily?" He said, clucking his tongue out of disappointment. "Go on and show Magnussen the fun that we had. And don't forget what happened to everyone the last time you 'died'." The criminal made mocking air quotes with his fingers as he leered at the detective. Magnussen sighed and stepped back.

"Apparently I was wrong. My information was erroneous to a fault. Sherlock Holmes can't win every game he sits down to." The businessman remarked. Sherlock gasped for air and found that he couldn't draw any. The room grew unbearably hot and he began to panic and spasm on the floor of his mind palace while Magnussen and Moriarty looked on in disappointment.

"It's fine, there's always bigger game." Magnussen sighed, his words echoing around in Sherlock's head like ricocheting bullets.

_**Game\**_

_**.**_

_**Game.**_

_**Game.**_

_**Game.**_

"Sherlock!" Someone shouted, growing more and more frantic by the minute. The detective could feel a cool trickle of air bleed into his safe room, relieving a little bit of the heat that was searing through his chest.

"Medium velocity gunshot wound to the chest, minimal cavitation effect, up the oxygen levels."

"Class 4 hemorrhage, he's already catatonic. Do a quick blood draw and get me a blood bag now!"

"Miss please step back, we've got this under control."

"I'm a doctor! Please, I'm a doctor, let me through!"

"Occlusive dressing applied, get him to Bart's."

"Sherlock don't you dare die. Please." And then he gave in to the pain and fell unconscious.

. . .

Madeline was frantic. The doctors in the ER almost had to sedate her to stop her anxious pacing up and down the halls and in the waiting room. John wasn't even allowed into the room while the ER doctors worked on Sherlock in a little sterile white room. As soon as they stepped out and pulled off their gloves Madeline and John darted to the door and impatiently waited for the doctors' prognosis.

"You can't touch him." One of them warned, "He's been shot through the left lung and the bullet almost nicked his heart." Madeline bounced on the balls of her feet impatiently and John frowned.

"How long should it take him to recover?" He asked.

"About a month or two." The doctor answered. "The bullet caused his left lung to collapse and fill with fluid. He can go home after about two to three weeks but don't let him overexert himself or do any running." John's frown grew deeper and the doctor stepped aside to let him and Madeline into the room. Sherlock was lying on his back on the bed, pale and motionless. An oxygen mask rested over his nose and mouth, pushing air to the detective in lieu of his semi-functioning lungs. Madeline reached out her hand to touch his arm but pulled back uncertainly. John stood beside her and rubbed her shoulder, and made a small noise when he noticed that Sherlock's eyes were struggling to open. Madeline sighed in relief and braced her arms on the edge of the bed.

"Are you crying?" Sherlock wheezed. The oxygen mask muffled the words and Madeline had to ask him to repeat himself. The detective sighed out of frustration and pulled the mask away from his face.

"At least you're not wearing makeup. Your face would look horrible." He said snarkily. John quickly scramble to put the mask back on Sherlock's face when the detective started to cough and choke. Madeline waited until Sherlock's breathing had evened out before talking again.

"What happened?" She asked quietly, a little bit of the firmness from the mind palace version of herself leaking into her voice. "Who shot you?" Sherlock gave her an icy glare and tapped his fingers on the sheets to give a pointed _not telling_ gesture. Madeline sighed and looked down at her hands out of frustration and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"It's none of your business anyway." He snapped, lifting the oxygen mask so that John and Madeline could hear him again and waving them off when they tried to put the mask back down. "Although I will tell you that you both helped slow the bullet." He added. Madeline and John wrinkled their brows in confusion and Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation. He tried to throw his hands up irritatedly but began to wheeze out of exertion. Madeline gingerly took Sherlock's hand in her own and chewed on her bottom lip. Sherlock slightly squeezed her hand.

"You left your scarf and gloves in the flat, by the way." He murmured. Madeline gave a halfhearted laugh and blinked back happy tears, a little amused that Sherlock's awful attempt at humor appeared in a hospital room of all places. Her hand clenched around Sherlock's suddenly as a thought struck her.

"Was it Magnussen?" She asked, John looked at them sharply and raised an eyebrow. Sherlock rolled his eyes and shook his head, not truly lying. Madeline pursed her lips and frowned.

"Then was it Antonio?" She inquired again. Sherlock hesitated for only a second before shaking his head again. Madeline trapped his hand between both of hers and squeezed it gently.

"I'm glad you're not dead." She said quietly.

"Same here." John coincided.

"An understatement." Sherlock said through the mask in a miffed voice. "I wouldn't let myself be killed so easily." Madeline fell silent as the sharp memory of Sherlock on the roof of St. Bart's flashed through her mind, but she didn't mention it.

"We should let him sleep." John reminded her. "That way he'll heal up faster." Madeline nodded and reluctantly released Sherlock's hand. He flexed it in relief as he felt circulation returning to his fingers.

"I'm going to stay here for a while, John." Madeline said, "Could you stop by Baker Street and let Mrs. Hudson know that I won't be back and she doesn't need to panic."

"Don't ask me, ask him." John said, nodding at Sherlock. The detective narrowed his eyes childishly and frowned.

"What about Mrs. Hudson. Is she alright?" He asked, pushing the oxygen mask away from his face again. John forcefully help the plastic mask over his ex-flatmate's nose to make sure Sherlock was inhaling the oxygen.

"She's fine, apparently she was out at the market when you were shot." John told him. Sherlock nodded satisfactorily and seemed to relax a little bit more. Madeline disappeared into the waiting room and came back with her coat and bag. She meticulously laid them by the visitor's chair in the far corner and purposefully sat down. John shrugged his shoulders and patted Sherlock's knee supportively before giving Madeline a small smile and leaving to speak with the doctors outside and then leave. After he'd left Madeline pulled her legs underneath her into the chair like she always did back in the flat in her armchair and pulled out a book. Sherlock eyed her suspiciously out of the corner of his eye as the oxygen mask hissed gently and gave him mouthfuls of air that tasted like pennies and the inside of an aluminum can.

"What are you doing?" He asked. Madeline regarded him over the top of her book and shrugged.

"I'm reading." She said teasingly, trying not to acknowledge the tubes hooked up to Sherlock, the bandages on his chest, and the oxygen mask on his mouth. He gave her an exasperated look and resumed looking at the ceiling in his supine position.

"What are you reading?" He asked shortly, although it sounded more like a demand than a question. Madeline held up the book but Sherlock couldn't see it from his position. He struggled to sit up and she frantically stood up and dragged the chair to his beside with an unbearable screech. She pushed him back onto the sheets, careful to avoid applying pressure to his bullet wound.

"You stayed with me the millions of times I had to go to the hospital, so I'm just being nice and repaying the favor." Madeline told him firmly, holding up the book so he could see the title _Peter Pan_ etched onto the cover. The detective grunted dismissively and Madeline went back to reading. The next time Sherlock glanced over at her she was completely unconscious with her cheek leaning on her hand and the book still splayed in her lap while she curled up in the uncomfortable chair. Sherlock rolled his eyes when she started snoring and debated hitting her with the book to make her stop since he was incapable of leaving for a soundproof and quieter room.

"Oh look, is this an experiment in quality time?" Magnussen asked from the door to the hospital room. Sherlock craned his head to see where the businessman stood at the foot of his bed. The monitor beside him began to beep at a fast pace as his heart rate sped up out of anger and a small touch of helplessness. Madeline was still absolutely unconscious next to him and hadn't even stirred when Magnussen had entered.

"What do you want?" Sherlock snapped, Charles smiled and sauntered up to the bed. He leaned over Sherlock and gently removed the oxygen mask from the detective's face.

"There, I can hear you now. What were you saying?" He said charmingly like he wasn't depriving Sherlock of oxygen.

"Are you here to finish what Antonio failed at?" The detective wheezed, determined not to let the panic from the small tendrils of coldness creeping into his lungs show on his face.

_Is this what Madeline's depression is like?_

Magnussen smiled coyly, and Sherlock was struck by how closely the expression mirrored Moriarty's leer.

"Of course not," Charles said. "Besides there's a lady in the room. How do you think she'd feel waking up to find you dead?" Sherlock struggled to push himself upright but Magnussen simply pressed two fingers to the bullet wound and applied enough pressure to leave Sherlock Holmes breathless and immobile.

"I have to say this must be the most helpless you've ever been. Don't interfere with my business, Sherlock." Magnussen said coolly, leaning down by the detective's ear and whispering in a voice that sounded like rattling parchment paper. "I'm sure your brother already warned you about me. My power doesn't lie behind a gun or a henchman; my weapon is my knowledge." The businessman tapped his temple almost humorously and winked as Sherlock began to gasp for air like a beached fish. "I have everything, and it's all filed away neatly in my workplace." Madeline yawned and stirred in her sleep, and Magnussen tossed her a disdainful look.

"I just came by to pay my respects." He said, "You should recover easily enough- Antonio was never a good shot." Sherlock wanted to ask him how he knew Antonio and why he was using past tense to describe the drug lord, but he was absolutely deprived of oxygen and couldn't do more than strain for small pieces of air.

Magnussen touched his pointer finger to his lips tauntingly to insinuate silence and easily dropped the oxygen mask back onto Sherlock's face. The detective scrambled to push the mask into its proper position on his face and inhaled deep breaths of the metallic-smelling air. Magnussen's eyes crinkled at the corners like an old man enjoying a joke with a friend as he moved to the door. Sherlock glared at him and removed the mask from his face to say something biting but Magnussen made a "shh" gesture and pointed to Madeline before leaving without another word.

Sherlock laid back in the bed and listened to the beeps of the heart monitor as his heart rate slowed down gradually to its normal rate. Madeline shifted in her sleep again and he waited patiently for her to wake up, but she just adjusted the position of her arm and went back to sleep again. Sherlock sighed and retreated into his mind palace until she jerked out of sleep with a gasp and rubbed at the back of her neck, which no doubt was sore from how she'd been sleeping.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked nonchalantly.

"Just dreams." Madeline responded with equal indifference. "And these chairs are hard to sleep in." Sherlock did his best to shrug his shoulders and Madeline set her book aside.

"What did you do while I slept?" She asked. An image of Magnussen's smug face flashed into the detective's mind for an instant and he immediately decided not to say what really happened.

"Nothing much." He said finally. Madeline eyed him skeptically and decided she wasn't going to get another answer out of him. She looked at his blood bags to check how full they were and grimaced before going back to her book. Sherlock waited until she was fully immersed in the story again before scowling up at the ceiling past the obtrusive oxygen mask.

"Make sure you take your medicine." He reminded Madeline after a few minutes of silence. "If you go into a depression swing you can be hospitalized next door to me." He added to try and make a joke. Madeline frowned and pulled her medicine bottle out of her bag, then took her medication.

**A.N.- Whoaaaa I'm churning these out fast. Sorry if the plot seems shoddy I tend to not put as much effort into sequels after a while so I'm just gonna try and get this whole thing done ASAP so the quality doesn't change.**

**Again thanks for sticking with this story so far, and remember if you want to give ideas feel free to Snapchat me jade-author.**

**Thanks guys!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A.N.- Attention dear readers…. THERE'S A SHERLOCK CON IN LONDON. Apparently it's called the "SHERLOCKED Convention". And Benedict, Gatiss, Moffat, and a couple of others are going to be here as guests! It's the first weekend we get to London, and I swear to the high heavens the stars have aligned for this! I think it'd be cool if some of you guys went too (or if you're already going we should meet up and hang out!). **

**Grace- Thanks, I don't know what made it different but I'm glad you enjoyed it!**

**Zodiacgurl17- Hi nice to see you again! Yeah I've been struggling with some writer's block, and I'm afraid I'll lose readers if I update too sparsely. It's quality over quantity though.**

**Cat- That's what keeps Madeline from being a Mary Sue. She doesn't have a tormented past that brought on her depression. It's a genetic thing she was just born with and has dealt with all her life. (Self harm included.) Unfortunately to keep things interesting a mental breakdown or a relapse might be in order… oops. Honestly the best thing about making OC's is that you can either love on them and keep them safe and turn them into Mary Sue's or you can absolutely put them through a damn meat grinder and keep them in the in between of Mary Sue-ness and unrealistic badassery. Ya' feel?**

The Dame of Baker Street 2: Mind Games, Ch. 5

"Sherlock if you don't shut up and quit whining I will lock you in the room and ignore you." Madeline shouted down the hall. Sherlock groaned and staggered out of his room with the oxygen tank dragging behind him. The tiny clear pipes connected to the tank looped over his ears and dropped down to his nose, where they pushed oxygen at intervals into Sherlock's recuperating lungs.

"I can't just lie around and wait for myself to recuperate. Just because my transport is damaged doesn't mean I can't work." He complained.

"You know what just because you're part mule doesn't mean you can work yourself to death." Madeline snapped, dropping what she was doing in the kitchen and stepping into the living room forcefully. Sherlock scowled at her and tapped his fingers agitatedly on his oxygen tank, and Madeline glared right back.

"You need to lay off. Just sleep for a while okay?" She said in a voice that left little room for argument.

"The case still isn't solved. There's work to be done but I can't do it because you're inhibiting me." Sherlock said irately.

"Because if I do let you work you're going to kill yourself out of overexertion. John _and_ the other doctor said you can't overwork yourself." Madeline told him impatiently.

"Making sure I don't exert myself is not the same as keeping me on constant bed rest." Sherlock snapped. "That's why I left the hospital." Madeline marched up to the detective and pressed her palm against the right side of his chest to avoid his bullet wound and push him back but even though he was weak he still wouldn't budge. She almost debated poking near the wound to make the detective listen but pushed the idea from her mind. She pushed him again, more for emphasis than to really move him.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock deadpanned. "You're not strong enough to put me back in bed."

"No but I sure as hell can call John and have him take you back to the hospital." Madeline argued. "Please just go lay down."

"No."

"Yes dammit!"

"No."

"Mrs. Hudson!" Madeline called, "Can you call John for me?" Sherlock knew it wasn't loud enough for the old landlady to hear, but he frowned and dragged his oxygen tank back down the hall pointedly, making sure it scraped and bumped along the floor loudly.

"You're just being spiteful." Madeline reprimanded him, kicking his bedroom door open and holding it open with the side of her foot. She offered to help Sherlock carry his tank down the hallway but he'd just given her an acidic glare and muttered about how he could manage on his own. Madeline pointed at the bed that looked like it had been slept in once every hundred years.

"Bed. Now." She said. Sherlock huffed like a pointed child and dropped onto the bed, although the sudden movement and the compaction of his chest made him wince and cough a couple of times to get rid of the buzzing sensation in his lungs. Madeline knew better than to reach out and help him, even though every maternal instinct she had was urging her to duct tape the oxygen tubes to Sherlock's face and supervise him to make sure he slept. She pressed her lips into a thin line and left while Sherlock swung his legs painstakingly onto the bed and tried not to tangle himself up in his oxygen tubes.

"Here," Madeline said, reappearing in the doorway a second later with things in her arms. "Here's the laptop, and here are the cases you were looking up. You can work on them as long as you don't get worked up." She said firmly. Sherlock rolled his eyes and reached eagerly for the items. Madeline sighed and handed the laptop and folders over, then went back to her kitchen.

"Miss Carver," Sherlock called after her, Madeline stuck her head through the doorway.

"Yeah?" Sherlock looked like he was going to say something kind, his eyes were relaxed and a little warmer than usual. Instead they seemed to frost over slightly and his haughty demeanor returned as he raised his chin.

"You forgot the heiress' case." He said.

"I left that out." Madeline returned.

"As I suspected." He scoffed.

"Well work on something else." Madeline snapped, "That case almost killed you." The angry look on her face told the detective that she knew the pretenses of what had landed him in the hospital, but not the details. Sherlock scowled and flipped through one of the folders with evident discontent written on his face.

"Working from here is going to be dull." He complained.

"I can always turn some of my music on to liven things up." Madeline suggested.

"No. No, no, no. It'll be fine." Sherlock said quickly, omitting the remark he'd prepared about Madeline's awful taste in music. Madeline nodded curtly and left the room, and a second later Sherlock called her again.

"Miss Carver." He said again. Madeline leaned back through the doorway curiously with a little bit of impatience tingeing her features. Sherlock waved his hand at his in a mix between flippancy and annoyance, beckoning her over to the bed side.

"Blither about something," he demanded, "That way I can focus and not fall asleep from all the medication." Madeline found herself smiling slightly.

"I thought you can't concentrate when I start talking." She remarked, he rolled his eyes and glared at her until she held her hands up in mock defeat. She kicked her shoes off and flopped onto the bed beside Sherlock with both of her arms knitted behind her head.

"So I've been working on something new lately." She said. Sherlock made an affirming noise as he leafed through a folder and tossed it to the side in exchange for another one. "I've made a jump on the LG3 genes, hopefully I'll be able to do some more tests and perhaps send some samples back to America for testing up at Harvard or Johns Hopkins." She said. Another grunt. "I might have to go home though to oversee the process, they'll need my input on the protein sequences and where to input the adjusted proteins into the genetic code." Madeline added. Sherlock dropped the folder onto his chest with a _whoosh_ sound as the papers inside it scattered and some slipped to the floor. Madeline rolled onto her side and buried her face in the crook of her left arm. Her shoulders shook as she laughed hysterically.

"Oh you bought it! I didn't think you were actually listening." She giggled.

"Of course I was." Sherlock snapped, wiping the look of surprise from his face and replacing it with an irritated expression.

"I thought I was just your white noise machine." Madeline said tauntingly between desperate gasps for air. Sherlock scowled and reached to gather up the papers that had fallen out of the folders. Madeline rolled off of the bed and walked around to Sherlock's side to grab the ones that had fallen to the ground.

"Relax, I'm not going to leave." She said matter-of-factly as she handed him the sheets. "I've got friends at both schools who can be my liaisons if need be. Don't get so riled, Mr. Holmes." She added, poking him gently.

"I'm not riled." He snapped, tucking all of the papers back into the folder and reaching for another case. Madeline took her place beside him again and listened for a few minutes in silence to the steady wheezing and hissing of the oxygen machine and the sound of Sherlock typing on the laptop and flipping through folders. The combined sounds made her want to just curl up and fall asleep beside the detective.

"You're not talking." He said suddenly, jarring Madeline out of her stupor.

"And uh John. John was going to come over today and give us an update on Mary and the baby." She said, fighting back a yawn. "He's working in one of the freestanding clinics today so he'll probably be back around five." She craned her head to look past Sherlock's curly hair at the alarm clock on the night stand. It read 4:32 in big red numbers. She sighed and wriggled onto her side so she could look across Sherlock's chest at the case he was looking at.

"Oh wow a robbery." She said, pointing at the news article that had been linked to John's blog.

"Nothing marvelous." Sherlock scoffed, batting her hand away. Madeline rested her cheek on Sherlock's shoulder to look at the next case. He hesitated and tensed for a moment then went on to the next folder.

"That looks promising." Madeline said.

"A missing dog, oh joy. Just the right amount of excitement." Sherlock drawled sarcastically. Madeline swatted at him and immediately regretted it when he winced. She bit her lip out of guilt and swung off of the other side of the bed.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked.

"I've got to take my medicine. You want any coffee or tea?" She asked. Sherlock shook his head and she shrugged. He could hear her banging around in the kitchen while she looked for the things she needed.

"Sherlock we're out of coffee!" Madeline shouted to him.

"Then go buy some instead of complaining about it!" Sherlock called back with a little more strength than before. Madeline's footsteps hurried down the hallway until she skidded into his room.

"You're serious?" She asked, he gave her a flat look that showed how little he cared and she narrowed her eyes.

"I'll have my phone. You'd better call me if anything happens. And Mrs. Hudson should be downstairs." She said, wrapping her gauze around her hand absently.

"I'm going to throw something at you if you don't get going." Sherlock deadpanned. Madeline gave him one more warning glare before grabbing her coat and leaving for the nearest market.

. . .

"John should be back by now." Madeline murmured, picking through the bags of coffee in the Tesco. The cheaper the better. She glanced at the clock on the far wall. The clock's hands pointed to 5:46 pm.

"I should go ahead and get back." She said to herself, grabbing two bags of cheap generic American coffee and making her way to the checkout. The cashier was halfway through ringing up the coffee when Madeline darted from the register and snagged a box of nicotine packs and added them to her purchase. She ignored the disapproving look the cashier gave her and promptly paid for the items, then headed back to Baker Street.

Madeline decided to forego a cab, she didn't have the money left over to pay for one. She threaded her arm through the plastic bag and walked, enjoying the cold fall air. Other people walked beside her and past her on the street, but luckily nobody noticed her and tried to ask her for a statement. Apparently Mycroft had been able to dissuade the press from congregating outside of Baker Street like they normally did; but a small and odd movement behind her snagged Madeline's attention.

_Oh God, not the paranoia again…_

She spun all the way around quickly and smoothly like she was taking a second glance at a building. She saw someone step into an alleyway but disregarded it as another person just trying to buy some easy street drugs and trying to avoid being noticed. Madeline shrugged and continued home, eager to see if Sherlock was feeling better.

. . .

The detective lay on his bed restlessly. He'd gone through all of the cases Madeline had brought him and even looked through a couple of new ones that had come in as online submissions to John's blog. They were all boring, what he truly wanted was to get back to the heiress' case. He lay there listening to the obnoxious hiss and hum of his machine and stared at the cracked plaster on the ceiling. Sherlock began calculating the time it would take Madeline to get to the nearest market and back based on multiple routes. He averaged them and pinpointed her arrival back to Baker Street to be around 6:00 pm.

He heard the door in the landing open and shut loudly and was impressed that Madeline had made it back so early. Sherlock waited for her to climb the stairs and solicit their familiar squeaking but didn't hear anything.

"Sher…lock." Someone said faintly. The detective felt a rare stroke of panic strike at his bones as he swung himself out of the bed, ignoring the lancing panic attacking his lungs. He dragged the oxygen tank behind him arduously as he stumbled breathlessly down the hallway and onto the top landing at the entrance to 221 B. At the bottom of the stairs by the front door John was crumpled into a bruised and bloody mess. He looked like he'd barely made it through the door. Sherlock tore his oxygen tubes from his face and stumbled rather than walked down the stairs.

"John, John!" He said, shaking the doctor's body and trying to wake him up from the comatose state he'd fallen into.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock shouted hoarsely, "Mrs. Hudson! Call an ambulance!"

"Sherlock, what happened?" Madeline asked shakily, standing in the doorway of the Baker Street apartments with her bag still looped over her arm. She quickly shed the Tesco bag and dropped to her knees beside John. Mrs. Hudson stumbled out of her flat with her hand pressed over her mouth.

"What on- oh my. I'll call an ambulance." She said.

"No," Madeline said sharply, rolling John onto his back and inspecting his biggest wounds. "He's just got some cuts and bruises, let's get him upstairs."

"We're taking him to the hospital." Sherlock snapped, glaring at Madeline.

"What would your brother say?" She retorted. "He needs help but we can treat him here." Magnussen's taunting face loomed in Sherlock's vision briefly and he frowned, then began choking. Madeline panicked and sprinted up the stairs, then brought Sherlock's oxygen the rest of the way down and looped the tubes over his ears and into his nose again. Mrs. Hudson readily helped Madeline half-carry-half-drag John up to 221 B and lay him on the couch gently. Then Madeline came back for Sherlock and helped him back up the stairs. She deposited the detective in his chair and then scrambled for the medical kit under the sink. Mrs. Hudson went to prepare tea while Madeline tore the gauze from her hand and used it to dab at John's cuts and bandage them, both of which she did shabby jobs at. Then she put a cool washcloth on John's head and let him sleep. Sherlock watched her move meticulously and helplessly.

"Why did you add a compress?" He asked, "That seems irrelevant."

"I- I don't know. It seemed like a good idea." Madeline huffed. "What do you want me to do?" The detective dragged his oxygen tank over to the couch and studied John's face closely.

"Who hurt him?" Madeline asked. When Sherlock didn't answer her she repeated it even louder and nudged his shoulder.

"It was the same person who shot you, wasn't it?" She asked lowly. Sherlock gave her a sharp glance just as Mrs. Hudson bustled into the flat with a tray of cups balanced in her arms. She distributed them to everyone and took a seat beside the couch while they all waited for John to regain consciousness. When he did, he jolted awake and tried to aim a blow at an invisible attacker, just barely missing punching Mrs. Hudson square in the jaw. Madeline panicked and grabbed the doctor's forearm and tried to hold him still until he was fully aware of where he was.

"John, John! Calm down!" Madeline told him. He sat upright with wide eyes and shrunken pupils while his chest heaved and his adrenaline surge fizzled out.

"Tell us what happened, dear." Mrs. Hudson said, passing the doctor a cup of tea and rubbing his shoulder kindly.

"I dunno." John said all at once. "I took the Tube from Bakerloo and as soon as I'd stepped out of the station I was hit on the head." Madeline encouraged him to remember more about the scenario and Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly.

"I remember feeling off when I left the train, like I was being followed. Then when I was walking up the street I tripped on something and was dragged into one of the side alleys- you know, with all the rubbish bins." John said. Sherlock nodded and rolled his hand in a "go on" motion. "Then some blokes hit me on the head and roughed me up." The doctor added. "That's it."

"Did they take your wallet or Tube pass?" Madeline asked worriedly. John patted his pockets frantically and slowly pulled out his Tube card and his wallet.

"Wow, they didn't take them." He murmured. "That's weird." Sherlock frowned and inhaled another breath of metallic air through his oxygen tubes. Madeline cut the detective an anxious glance as John murmured something about getting back to Mary.

"Stay for a little while, John. You can't go back to Mary looking like that." Madeline protested. The doctor shook his head and stood from the couch shakily.

"I need to go check on her." He said. Madeline bit the inside of her cheek to keep from arguing against him and helped John down to the street to hail a cab. She gave the cabbie twenty pounds and John's address, then made sure the cab had rounded the corner safely before collecting her Tesco bag and going back upstairs. Mrs. Hudson had already brought her tray back down to her flat, leaving only two cups of lukewarm tea on the table by the couch. Madeline sank into her chair across from Sherlock and narrowed her eyes.

"Tell me who did it," She demanded.

"I don't know what you're-"Sherlock started.

"I'm not going to play Cluedo with you about this, Sherlock." Madeline retorted, crossing her arms. Sherlock's eyes flashed to her angrily.

"Don't compare John's life to a meager board game." He growled lowly. Madeline held his glare firmly, even though she wanted to apologize and avert her eyes.

"Then tell me who hurt John." She said forcefully. "I know you knew who it was." The detective glared at her like he was debating throwing Sherry out the window.

"I don't have a culprit-" He said monotonously.

"Bullshit." Madeline interrupted. He gave her a venomous glare and she returned it with equal gall. After an incredibly long minute Sherlock's eyes left Madeline's and darted around the room. He inhaled a deep breath and his oxygen machine gave a small wheezing noise.

"You've no doubt figured it out by now anyway, haven't you?" He asked coldly. Madeline pressed her lips into a thin line.

"Depends on who really did it." She deadpanned, scanning Sherlock's face to see if he had any reaction to her words.

"Antonio?"

"Antonio." Sherlock coincided bitterly. Madeline frowned and scratched at the leather clad arm of her chair.

"So what are we going to do? I thought Antonio wasn't going to come back." She said, finally giving up on her angry front and rubbing her forehead with the tips of her fingers.

"I don't know. Mycroft and Scotland Yard won't be helpful." Sherlock said.

"Any why is that?" Madeline asked. The detective's fingers moved restlessly and Madeline handed him the box of Nicotine patches she'd bought him at the Tesco. He tore the box open and replaced two of the patches on his arm with new ones.

"Because Antonio is under Magnussen's thumb, and so are Mycroft and the Yard." Sherlock said with a sigh, relieved to have the Nicotine flowing through his system.

"So Magnussen was behind you being shot and John getting hit." Madeline summarized blandly. Sherlock frowned and steepled his fingers in front of his nose, careful to avoid the oxygen tubes and Madeline's curious but pointed look.

"Perhaps." He said. Madeline's eyes narrowed.

"A straight yes or no is what I'm looking for." She said. Sherlock's eyes reached for the ceiling out of exasperation.

"I'm not going to involve you in something so violent." He said shortly.

"Really? Jim and everything under Parliament wasn't dangerous? Going to the hospital because you also kept information from us and decided to fake your own death wasn't?" Madeline snapped, regaining her anger and not having any trouble maintaining it. "This is crazy, I already know Magnussen is behind it. Lying to me won't help, and it definitely won't help John, either."

"And so it was Magnussen!" Sherlock responded angrily. "Forgive me for trying to be considerate and _not_ try to trigger your ever-so-lovely suicidal tendencies!" Madeline stopped short for a minute, stunned at how low a jab the detective had taken and a little angry and impressed that he'd thought of her depression. Then her mind cleared and a hot retort came to mind.

"I've got a handle on it!" She snapped back. "And my medicine has been helping a lot!" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"A lot. Oh yes. Like you don't just stare at the ground or at the back of your hand with the most pathetic and tortured look on your face." He snorted.

"I don't."

"You do. And quite honestly I don't like it." Madeline slapped her hands on her legs to create a loud and sudden noise.

"So Magnussen put Antonio and his band of assholes up to shooting you and beating up John." She said in a low and angry voice.

"Excellent subject change, by the way; did you know your American accent comes back when you're angry? And no, Antonio shot me his friends were most likely the ones to hit John." Sherlock responded, his voice drifted back to its normal tone and Madeline crossed her arms, systematically then her legs.

"Great." She snapped. "Then back to one of the earlier questions- what are we going to do about it?" Sherlock moved like he was going to shrug, then opted out of the sarcastic answer and leaned his chin on the palm of his hand.

"They can get into the apartments. So even if the possibility arises that they can't get to 221 B they might be able to get to Mrs. Hudson in 221 A." He commented.

"Yeah, so what can we do about it?" Madeline asked shortly. "You already said your brother won't be any help, and neither will Lestrade."

"Carry a gun." Sherlock said simply. "At all times. And don't travel alone unless you can help it."

"I'm not talking about me." Madeline said.

"I'm not talking about you either. Don't be selfish." Sherlock snapped. "I'm talking about John or Mrs. Hudson. Or perhaps we could send her away to her cousin's. She was bragging about having some family down by Weymouth."

"Do you think that would work?" Madeline asked, feeling her anger begin to ebb and slip away until she was left with a faint ache in her chest that bordered on worry and timidity.

"How am I to know?" Sherlock said dismissively. "At least it would get her out of the city if Antonio and Magnussen decide to try and kill one of us again."

"What about John, Mary, and the baby?" Madeline murmured. Sherlock's eyes hardened with a determined gleam.

"They'll be fine. Mary is an ex-assassin and John is a crack shot. And if that fails they're welcome to fall back on us." He said. Madeline nodded and debated heading to the kitchen cabinet for another dose of her antidepressants but opted out of it. Sherry hopped up into her lap and clawed at her legs before settling down and purring.

"So what about us?" Madeline asked, a little wary of getting into a shouting match with the detective again.

"You'll be fine, panicking and fretting about things will only make you neurotic." Sherlock said. Madeline huffed and rolled her eyes as she petted Sherry with precise and steady strokes.

"Not just me. I can hold my own if something happens." She ignored the detective's snort and pressed her lips into a thin line. "I'm not the one hooked up to an oxygen machine. If someone was to come in here brandishing a gun I really don't think you'd be much help." She added. Sherlock didn't respond, he just glared at the carpet. Madeline dragged her hands across her face with an exasperated sigh and gently pushed Sherry off of her lap.

"You know what, it's getting late. I'm going to make some pasta for dinner then I'm going to bed, you should too." She shuffled to the kitchen and began pulling things out of the cupboard.

"Do you want something to eat?" She called.

"No." Sherlock said.

"Great, I'll make you a plate." Madeline said with false cheerfulness, trying to stay happy in hopes of bringing on a mania swing to banish the memory of her arguments with Sherlock. The detective groaned and leaned back in his chair. He wore such an exasperated look that Madeline debated asking him if he had eaten a lemon in light of trying to make a good joke. At first he refused the plate repeatedly, but after Madeline all but shoved the pasta in his face he snatched it with a scowl and balefully slid the food around his plate. Madeline glared at him until the detective finally began to eat. She nodded firmly and took a seat across from him, checking her watch repeatedly until he'd eaten half the plate. Madeline reached out and picked up Sherlock's oxygen tank and extended her other hand to him to help him up. The detective shoved her hand away and stood from his chair.

"Fretting over me is redundant. I already have a mother." He snipped, shuffling his feet to maintain his balance. Madeline held her hands up in a teasing way, still holding the heavy oxygen tank in one hand.

"Then don't make me tell you twice." She jibed. Sherlock gave her a flat look and stumbled down the hallway. He put up one more fight at the door about getting into bed, and Madeline had to all but kick the back of the detective's knees to get him to at least sit on the covers.

"I don't care what you do or what cases you look at, just stay in bed." Madeline demanded, she checked to make sure Sherlock's oxygen tubes were giving off enough air then turned on the hall light and turned off the bedroom light.

"There, that way you can see." She told him. Sherlock gave her a bland look that she returned with a sickly sweet smile.

"Let me know if you need anything." She said. Sherlock muttered something incoherent and Madeline frowned.

"Come again."

"You should go to bed." He repeated monotonously.

"Nah, I have papers to do. Thanks for taking such good care of me though, Mr. Holmes." Madeline said sweetly. She leaned in and kissed the detective's cheek, and he turned his head slightly so that his lips caught hers. Madeline pulled back and sighed.

"Go to bed," She said, giving him a small smile before leaving the bedroom and going back to work.

**A.N.- So sorry, I kind of gave up on the end and filled it with fluff.**

**Anyway… again there's an official Sherlock convention in London from April 24-26. My roommate, friend, and I will all be there and if anyone else is going it'd be awesome if you guy would meet up or say hi! I think I'll have to postpone the last few chapters of this story to submit as my homework for the class I'm taking in London. Just the last few, so I'll keep updating for now. Sorry for the shoddy ending, I know it was a bit repetitive with what was going on. Terribly sorry, but the next one should be better. **

**Reviews are welcome!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A.N.- So apparently my roommate thinks it's funny to write one-shots and brutally kill my OC. Not to mention she's killed by Sherlock with a gun.**

**Ooooh you bastard. **

**KayBeth13- Aww, thank you. I'm trying to make it seem as real as possible, thank you for your support!**

**Reader- Done and done. Thanks for reminding me, I had some bio stuff to update on there. I made my personal info a little more vague, thanks.**

**Guest- Why thank you! Third- you are awesome, thank you for being so kind and supportive!**

**Cat- My roommate and I have a running joke about exploding organs and heart failure, I think I'll get really scared (my agoraphobia will probably kick in) and I'll tell him that I'm in early college etc etc and probably have him sign something. Then I'll run back to the place we're staying at and lock myself in a closet for the rest of May Term. Or I'll just be in a half-coma for the rest. XD**

**RLMW- Yup. Madeline took the brunt of the abuse in the last episode so I'm trying not to make it all about her. Just wait for the next chapter…**

**Grace- AHHH I WISH YOU COULD MEET US THERE! I want someone else to hang out with alongside my roomie and other friend!**

"**Your Roommate"- I SWEAR TO GOD CARTER IF YOU WRITE ANOTHER DARK FANFIC WHERE MADELINE DIES I WILL THROW ANOTHER BAR OF SOAP AT YOU. Clear? Great! Love you!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 6

Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing happened. No attacks, no ambushes. No threats or bombs in the mail. Madeline was skeptical and expected some kind of break in on Magnussen or Antonio's part, but every time she came back from work and unlocked the flat she expected to see the windows broken or the door forced open. Over the next two months Sherlock recuperated slowly until he could walk around independently without an oxygen tank as long as he didn't run or overexert himself to the point of being breathless.

John and Mary didn't suffer any attacks after John's beating, and the doctor's scratches and bruises weren't even noticeable after a couple of weeks. Sherlock and Madeline both followed through on their brainstorming session and urged Mrs. Hudson to visit her family in Weymouth for a few weeks. The old landlady had happily obliged and had teasingly warned Sherlock and Madeline to not burn the apartments down while she was gone, but she might have been serious. Nothing happened while Mrs. Hudson was gone. Sherlock took and solved a few minor cases and Madeline kept working and denied the detective from going back to work on the heiress's case. Mrs. Hudson returned at the end of November without an incident and life at Baker Street resumed its normal flow. Madeline finally felt comfortable leaving Sherlock when she went to work and enjoyed it when he gathered up whatever he was working on and joined her in her lab. He didn't mind her draping her arms over him and sometimes even reciprocated the gesture in his own way by leaning on Madeline's shoulder while she worked to point things out to her.

December was just creeping in with its cold fingers when the accident happened.

Madeline was working in her lab, reveling in the rare silence. Molly Hooper from the morgue in the basement had stopped by again for lunch and had produced a lively conversation, but Madeline had secretly wanted to get back to a project she was working on that actually incorporated a little bit of her research into yet another hereditary dispute. She'd been honored when a couple of Oxford students had asked her to contribute some of her notes, and had even gone so far as to run a couple of tests for the students and to give them some pointers on using LG3's for heredity tests. Sherlock hadn't stopped by the lab to work, so as soon as Molly left Madeline was ready to get back to work.

The hand sanitizer dispenser made a low growling sound before it spat a glob of hand sanitizer into Madeline's palm. She rubbed her hands together and shook them out a bit to dry them. They still felt wet but she ignored it and began to sort through the papers she'd stowed away while she was eating lunch with Molly. After a few minutes she started to notice a tingling sensation that started on the backs of her hands and spread to her palms. She ignored it and kept working, not bothering to rewrap the gauze around her left hand. Madeline scratched at her hands absently and prepared to spool more DNA. The tingling feeling built into an uncomfortable itch. After a few more minutes she decided to head back to Baker Street, she couldn't concentrate with the uncontrollable itching sensation on the backs of her hands and her palms.

By the time Madeline had made it back to Baker Street her hands were downright burning, and she kept them jammed into her pockets to try and ignore the uncomfortable feeling. She all but kicked the door of the flat open and walked inside. Sherlock was bent over the table examining something. Madeline tossed her bag into her chair and scratched at her hands again.

"Ugh, my hands are burning." She complained.

"Put some lotion on them or wash them in something. Don't complain to me." Sherlock called back. Madeline huffed and ran her hands under ice cold water in the kitchen sink. She sighed in relief at the soothing feeling but then winced when the burning sensation returned and was twice as strong as before. Madeline quickly turned the water off and shook her hands out. She noticed that they were quickly turning redder than they had been when she'd simply been scratching them and the burning was worse.

"Sherlock," She said, holding her hands out to him helplessly. "My hands are on frickin' fire." The detective gave her a patronizing glance out of the corner of his eye, but when he saw the state of her hands he stood from the table quickly and dropped what he'd been working on. He stepped around the table and grabbed Madeline's wrist; he turned her hand in front of his face and examined the red and irritated skin while she squirmed uncomfortably.

"You idiot, how did you get acid on your hands?" He snapped.

"What? I haven't touched acid, I don't even use it at work!" Madeline protested. Sherlock's jaw tightened as he dragged her to the counter and dug around under the sink for dish soap. He pulled Madeline's arms until her hands were over the sink and upended the entire bottle of dish soap onto them. The detective furiously rubbed the blue detergent onto her hands up to the wrists and then dug around in the cupboards a little more.

"You shouldn't have washed your hands in the sink." Sherlock snapped while he rooted through the cabinets. "The hydrogen in the acid mixes with the water to create hydronium ions. The water amplifies the acidic properties. I have no idea why you'd do something as foolish as that." He added. Madeline stood by the counter awkwardly with watering eyes and hands covered in slimy blue dish soap.

"I didn't know what it was." She snapped back. "I haven't touched anything that could have been in contact with acid all day. I thought it was something else and I was just trying to wash it off." Sherlock reemerged from underneath the sink with the first aid kit balanced in one hand.

"Oh yes, your brilliance never fails to astound." He said flatly. "Go ahead and carefully wash the detergent off of your hands. It's a base so it should have neutralized the acid quite well." He nodded to the sink before starting to pick through the medical kit. Madeline turned the tap on with her elbow and gingerly washed the soap off of her hands. They felt swollen and tender, but at least the burning had subsided to a faint tingle. Sherlock squirted half a tube of antibiotic cream onto Madeline's right hand and sloppily tried to bandage it. Madeline didn't flinch, but she did wince at the sight of her hands. They were red and had gained small acidic burns on her palms and the backs of her hands. They weren't severe, but there were many small ones. Sherlock emptied the other half of the antibiotic cream onto Madeline's other hand as well and bandaged it shoddily while she sat on the counter and tried not to make any noise.

"What did you touch?" Sherlock asked. "It's all over your hands, it wasn't just an item you picked up."

"I um, got some hand sanitizer from the dispenser in the lab. One of the automatic ones." Madeline said. "But the sanitizer used at Bart's has just about a neutral pH."

"Almost all hand sanitizer does." Sherlock said blandly, throwing things back into the medical kit and stowing the box back under the sink once again. "Did the hand sanitizer feel any different in consistency or smell?" He asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the table while Madeline held her hands in her lap and swung her legs while she sat on the counter. Sherlock frowned at the banging noise her legs made as they thumped on the cabinets beneath her but opted to say nothing.

"It was more slippery." Madeline said after a minute. "I didn't notice the smell it was just like normal." Sherlock's frown deepened and he reached past her shoulder into a cabinet. He tossed Madeline a bottle of ibuprofen as well as her Ritalin and Zofran and a bottle of Benadryl. "Take those." He told her, "And don't scratch or rub at your hands, including your wrists." He added. The detective grabbed his coat and knotted his scarf firmly around his neck before leaving the flat. Madeline sat on the counter for a while longer, then moved to the couch, then to her chair, then to Sherlock's chair, and finally resigned herself to sitting in the window seat and scanning the street until Sherlock returned.

"Did you sit there the whole time?" He asked, throwing his coat and scarf to the side and striding to the kitchen with what looked like a plastic cup from the water dispenser down the hall from Madeline's lab.

"No. What is that?" She asked, hopping away from the window and following him into the kitchen.

"A sample of the hand sanitizer from your lab." Sherlock said. Madeline flexed her hands in an urge to rub at the itches running across her hands. "Don't." Sherlock reprimanded her. Madeline frowned and crossed her arms to immobilize her hands, then leaned over the table to see what the detective was doing. Sherlock tore a small strip of pH tape and dipped the end of the strip into the hand sanitizer gathered at the bottom of the cup. He held the pH tape up and watched as the yellow paper slowly turned red.

"Holy shit." Madeline murmured.

"A pH of about one." Sherlock said grimly, tossing the strip into the waste bin and turning back to the table. "Be grateful it wasn't a pH of zero or that you put more hand sanitizer on your hands." He told Madeline. "Otherwise you wouldn't have hands, just lumps of melted flesh and bones." She shuddered and kept her arms firmly crossed over her chest while Sherlock fiddled with his lab equipment and tried to figure out what was in the hand sanitizer.

"Ah yes, by the way," Sherlock said absently while he was working. Madeline turned her head to indicate she'd heard him. "There were signs that the sanitizer dispenser in your lab had been tampered with." The detective added.

"Really?" Madeline asked genuinely. "I didn't notice." Sherlock rolled his eyes and kept working. He finally sat back and scowled.

"What is it?" Madeline asked, leaning around the detective to see what was forcing him to make such a sour face.

"Congratulations, you rubbed sulfuric acid on your hands this morning." Sherlock said curtly. Madeline could feel her eyes widen, but couldn't seem to muster up a feeling of surprise.

"Oh," She said finally. "Well that could've been dangerous." Sherlock cut her a cold glance and threw the plastic cup into the rubbish bin a little forcefully.

"No, you don't say." He said in a voice dripping with sarcasm more acidic than what Madeline had rubbed on her hands. She bit her lip and looked around for lack of something else to say to the detective. He rolled his eyes and frowned.

"So I'm guessing from that look you have a vague idea of who did it?" Madeline pointed out. Sherlock gave her a look that said "do you really need to ask?"

"Antonio again." Madeline guessed.

"No, it must have been Magnussen himself this time." Sherlock snapped. She held her hands up in a placating motion and hopped onto the counter, wincing at the agitation to her hands. Sherlock's blue eyes noted the small wince that flitted across Madeline's face before he decided to speak.

"He said that his power lies in his words rather than in true weapons." The detective mused. Madeline cocked her head to the side curiously but contradicted the action with a frown.

"So you've been talking to him." She said, but Sherlock ignored her.

"Interesting that he actually did this himself." He murmured. Madeline pursed her lips and leaned heavily against his shoulder to get him to answer.

"Yes," Sherlock huffed, shrugging her off of his shoulder anxiously. "He came in while I was hospitalized." Madeline could feel her eyes widen and didn't wipe the look of surprise and anger off of her face fast enough. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and diverted more of his attention to her.

"When did this happen?" Madeline asked lowly, although it was phrased more like a demand than a question. With one look Sherlock decided immediately not to tell her that Magnussen had visited while she was sleeping by his bedside and had almost been suffocated by the businessman.

"On one of the rare occasions you left the room and went to get food." He said, spreading a curt tone over his words for effect. Madeline rubbed her hands on her thighs slightly to relieve some of the burning and itching sensations darting across her skin like spiders. Sherlock noticed the movement but decided not to say anything. Madeline glared at the tiles on the kitchen floor for a few minutes and they just stood there in silence, neither one willing to talk and both waiting for the other one to break the quiet. Madeline finally aimed a misplaced kick at the leg of the table and succeeded in moving it about an inch or two. The action was accompanied by a loud screech that tore apart the silence in a way that was a little too satisfactory. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at Madeline again and she huffed.

"So what are we going to do? And no, don't give me any of that 'you'll be okay everything is under control' crap. That's not all I'm worried about." She snapped when the detective opened his mouth to speak.

"I wasn't going to, I was going to suggest a plan of action." He retorted snidely. Madeline folded her arms and shifted her weight to one hip expectantly.

"And the plan is?" Sherlock shrugged.

"Take the blows as they come. Soon enough Magnussen will make a mistake, and then I'll be able to exploit him." He said. Madeline frowned at him and he rolled his eyes.

"If you're not strong enough to defend yourself- or John or Mrs. Hudson, even- then I'll step in and do it for you." He added. Madeline shook her hands in the air like she was debating hitting something but instead crossed her arms again and turned up the volume of her glare.

"That's still not what I'm talking about." She snapped. "Yeah you act like a heartless bastard sometimes but when you start thinking about being all heroic and 'stepping in' that's normally when you just about get yourself killed doing something ridiculous and uncalled for." Sherlock gave her an unamused look and fully turned to face her. He leaned against the skewed kitchen table and she hopped back up onto the counter to maximize the distance between them.

"I appreciate it- I really do, and I'm sure John and Mrs. Hudson do, too; but not at the cost of you dying. We can't bury you twice." Madeline told him. Inwardly she was impressed with how steady she'd kept her voice and at how little emotion she thought she'd put onto her face, even though Sherlock noticed her eyes darting to his shoulders then to his face and away again anxiously.

"I'm not planning on dying any time soon." He informed her, "That's your first mistaken assumption. Secondly, there's nothing Magnussen can lord over me. I won't have any trouble taking him down when the time comes."

"When the time comes." Madeline repeated flatly. "Seriously? We need to take care of him now. What if he tries to kill one of us again?" Sherlock gave her a bland look and scowled.

"I'm not going to waste time arguing with you over this. You're the one who doesn't want anything to do with my work, so it would be appreciated if you would leave the topic of Magnussen alone. Remember you already shot one criminal." He said pointedly.

"Yes but I am also the one who doesn't want to come home from work and find you dying on the floor in a pool of your own blood with another bullet in your chest!" Madeline said. Her hands flew around her face in an attempt to express and rationalize her anger, and it occurred to Sherlock that if she knew how to speak Sign Language she'd know that she was signing something ridiculous about raspberries and Halloween happening on the same day.

"If it worries you that much then you're welcome to leave." Sherlock snapped. Madeline's left hand jerked towards her face like she was going to rub her forehead but then she decided against it and slammed her hand on her thigh.

"Are you kidding me? Seriously? That's completely overdramatic and cliché," She retorted. "Sherlock Holmes- quit taking everything on your shoulders, man up, stop trying to save everyone, and don't ever insist that I- or John, I don't doubt you've said the same to him- leave. You're trying to be either selfless or heroic and both ways it's not working out. I swear to God if this subject comes up again and you start recommending I leave I will go out and I will find Charles Magnussen or Antonio." Her voice dropped from high pitched squeaks to a serious and even tone in a matter of seconds, backing up how serious she was. It only took a moment for Sherlock to comprehend what she'd said and to piece together a response.

"You'll do no such thing." He growled. "That's a far-fetched notion and you know it. Both of them would just as easily shoot you in the face or back you skull in as look at you." He said in a clipped tone. Madeline glared at him coldly until the expression faltered and she put her head in her hands.

"Literally all we're doing is fighting." She murmured. "We didn't use to do this." Sherlock regarded her with a tight and closed off expression, reading Madeline's body language and expression.

_**Nervous,**_

_**Confrontational,**_

_**Angry,**_

_**Betrayed?**_

_**Ridiculously nervous.**_

_**No wrist-rubbing,**_

_**Yet.**_

He was a little surprised at how long it had been since he'd last read her, the last time he had she'd been confident and had only displayed a few nervous undertones; but now she was almost completely consumed by neuroticism. Her anger and confidence had dissipated into a tiny little girl who had no idea what was going on.

And quite frankly it was very annoying.

"Grow up." Sherlock snapped. "The situation is under control, don't grow angry and for God's sake don't retreat into a shell. It's irritating when you go from shouting like a drunkard to silently staring at your shoes or whimpering like a child."

"I do _not_ whimper." Madeline said shortly, her anger jumping back to life and then dying down again like a short breath on dying coals. Sherlock rolled his eyes and folded his arms to maintain his condescending posture. Madeline pushed herself off the counter and shook her head at the silence between them.

"I love you," She said lowly, "But do not ever keep secrets. I won't and you shouldn't. I don't even know what to say about it, but we need to have that established at least." Sherlock regarded her blankly and frowned.

"I have work to do," He said, taking a seat on the other side of the table and going back to work. Madeline stared at her hands and bit the inside of her cheek before she frowned, grabbed her bag from where she'd dropped it, and sank into her chair to work and read. Sherlock's phone buzzed a couple of times but he and Madeline both ignored it. It wasn't until John finally stumbled into the flat that Sherlock and Madeline looked up from their work.

"Where've you been? I called both of your mobiles but neither of you answered." The doctor said, leaning on the doorframe to catch his breath.

"Did you run all the way here?" Madeline asked incredulously, closing her book and setting it down in her lap.

"No, just from the Tube station." John answered, then he turned to Sherlock.

"You look livid, don't tell me you two had a row again." He said in an almost chastising voice before ignoring the definitely livid look on Sherlock's face that was directed to him and continuing into his next topic. "They've been calling you from the Yard for the last forty-five minutes." John said, he waved his phone between his fingers as Sherlock dug his out of his pocket. Madeline scrolled through her phone and knitted her eyebrows together.

"Mycroft has been calling me, too. And even Lestrade a couple of times. What's going on?" She asked. John froze and gave her a shaky look.

"You guys haven't watched the news or anything?" He said, "There's been another murder."

"Oh joy." Sherlock deadpanned.

"Sherlock," John snapped angrily, Madeline jumped at the sharpness of his voice. "It's at Buckingham Palace." Sherlock's bored expression disappeared and gained an interested edge tinged with a little concern. He stood quickly but firmly and walked out of the flat, not even bothering to grab his coat and scarf. John followed on his heels and Madeline rubbed at the inside of her wrists quickly before jumping from her chair and following after them. Sherry mewled as her owner stepped past her, but before she shut the door Madeline shook her head.

"Stay here," She said, "We'll be back as soon as we can." Then she left.

**A.N.- Sorry, so sorry about this. All they seem to be doing is arguing right now. Soooooo my roommate and my friend suggested that I kill someone… I'm so not happy about this. Poor thing. **

**Annnyway- feel free to send reviews, criticism, and ideas, etc. You can also snapchat me at jade-author . (If you'd like.) Thank you all for your continued support!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A.N.- Here's a new chapter! Hope you enjoy it! My roomie RavenclawStarkid13 had her 14****th**** birthday so congrats girlfriend! Now you're only one year away from me. **

**KayBeth13- Thanks! I'm trying to refrain from putting so much fluff in there that everyone chokes on it and firebombs my dorm for being too cliché. XD**

**Your Roommate- You know what woman… I swear to God I will throw soap bars at you again.**

**Grace- Ahhhh no panic attacks! I think you'll enjoy this chapter and the next, I feel like I've found direction in the plot again- they're not just squabbling and meandering along. **

**Cat- Thank you. There are a few instances where he actually tries to be sweet, but sweet just ain't his thang, ya feel? (Oh God you know it's three in the morning when I start to type like that.)**

**Enjoy and please don't murder me if you're a citizen of the UK. Please.**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 7

Sirens kept wailing in the street, and bobbies were almost to the point of linking arms to keep citizens from crowding forward to see what had happened. Sherlock, John, and Madeline had to walk from where their cabbie dropped them to the edge of the crowd because of all the nervous people milling about in the middle of the street.

"Who died?" Madeline repeated for the millionth time since they'd left Baker Street, John shook his head and led her forward as they trailed behind Sherlock. He seemed to have no trouble weaving between the passerby; but John and Madeline had to struggle to push their way through the crowd and edge between people to get to the front line. Sherlock was admitted past the stoic line of policemen without question but John had to flash his doctor's badge to get in. When Madeline went to follow him she was almost hit in the face by a policeman who threw out an arm to block her way.

"You can't go in," He told her coldly. Madeline gave John a frantic look and he stepped back to speak to the man but Sherlock snagged the doctor by his collar.

"Don't go anywhere." He ordered Madeline before disappearing with John into Buckingham Palace. She tried to explain to the bobby that she was with Sherlock and John but he just gently pushed her back into the crowd of nervous and anxious people.

"Three shots were fired inside of Buckingham Palace at three o'clock this afternoon. Guards and Scotland Yard officials rushed inside the palace grounds and immediately closed all entrances and exits into the building and grounds. All people visiting the palace are currently being contained on the premises. Bobbies are combing Buckingham to try and find the assailant. Although her Majesty isn't currently in residence in London a few select members of the royal family are; we'll let you know as soon as we get developments." A news reporter relayed through his earpiece into a camera. The newsman's hand jumped to his ear and his eyes widened before he turned back to the camera with a slightly more alarmed expression than before.

"We've just received news that internet sensation Sherlock Holmes has arrived on scene and will be examining the murder." He said with a little more excitement than what seemed appropriate to Madeline. She shifted her weight anxiously and tried not to touch anyone as the crowd surged around her and tried to get better views of whatever was going on inside the fence now barring civilian access.

"Miss Carver! Miss Madeline Carver!" She spun around at the sound of her name and almost bumped noses with the over-zealous news reporter and gave the camera pushed into her face a wide-eyed stare.

"Why aren't you in there with Sherlock Holmes?" The newsman asked, angling his microphone towards Madeline's chin and giving her an expectant look. "Aren't you always on either his arm or his heels?" When she couldn't put together an answer the man tapped his foot impatiently and gave her another question.

"Is Dr. John Watson with him in there?" He asked. Madeline stepped back from the camera to gain as much distance as she could but the camera panned to follow her.

"I, um yeah. He went in." She said, growing a little anxious as the crowd's nervous energy began to rise the longer they waited without explanation. The reporter nodded his head and the cameraman angled the camera down a little bit until the lens showed Madeline's shoddily bandaged hands.

"What happened to your hands?" The newsman asked. Madeline quickly stuffed them into her pockets to hide the bandages from sight. "Are your injuries from Mr. Holmes?" The reporter pressed. Madeline took another step backwards and pressed her lips together in a thin line.

"I'm not going to speak to you." She said firmly. She apologized when she bumped into a stranger a bit roughly and they growled at her in response. The reporter and camera followed.

"Would you say that you're in an abusive relationship with the detective?" The newsman asked. Madeline whirled around angrily.

"No, I am not." She said forcefully through clenched teeth. "Leave me alone, I've already said I'm not going to talk to you." The reporter moved forward again to brandish the microphone in her face and ask another question but Madeline quickly turned and pushed her way past the other people milling around to the edge of the crowd. As soon as she broke free of the throng of people the air became fresher and lighter, and the tense anxiety Madeline had felt began to dissipate. When she turned around to survey the crowd she could see the news reporter already zealously interviewing someone else in the crowd. She sighed and cast one more wistful look past the gates at Buckingham Palace before shaking her head and heading back to Baker Street.

. . .

Nothing had changed from the last time he'd visited. Everything was either gold or burgundy or cream and everything was heavily ornamented. John tagged as close to Sherlock as he could without breaking into a run. The detective took long, purposeful strides down the hallways and through parlor rooms without looking once to check his surroundings. Visitors who had been touring the palace when the three gunshots had been fired were sitting in nicely furnished chairs or leaning against the walls, some even sat on the carpet and answered any questions the passing bobbies or guards happened to ask them.

John looked down to check his watch and when he looked up again he saw that Sherlock was now following a man in a dark tailored suit who was leading him down the halls and Mycroft whispering furiously into his brother's ear. The man in the suit veered sharply into another room to the right and held the door open while the Holmes brothers entered and waited until John had followed to shut and lock the door.

"There are seven-hundred-and-fifty-five rooms. One-hundred-eighty-eight staff rooms and fifty-two royal and guest rooms including the Queen's room." Sherlock muttered. "Be sure to check the staff rooms as well." He added to Mycroft. The older Holmes nodded to the man in the suit, who left swiftly through a door on the other side of the room and shut it behind him.

"So what's happened?" John asked, "You only told me the half bit, what else?" Mycroft gave him a cold and deliberating look before sighing and rubbing at his brow. He was obviously stretched thin and seemed to be- grieving. John didn't need Sherlock's powers of observation to notice that.

"So you told me but you didn't have the decency to tell John." Sherlock said bitingly, but his voice didn't seem as acidic and condescending as usual.

"So _what_ happened?" John repeated, feeling his patience wear thin. Mycroft turned to him with a closed off look and the doctor noticed that he was lacking his umbrella.

"Prince George of Cambridge is dead." Mycroft said flatly with only a brief flicker of emotion across his face. John could feel his mouth drop open in horror and could feel repulsion race through his veins like ice water, followed quickly by a red hot surge of anger.

"The baby prince…" He repeated. Mycroft stared pointedly at the ceiling and even Sherlock gave the carpet a watered down glare.

"How did this happen?" John demanded, "How the hell did someone get in here- to goddamn Buckingham Palace- and murder a baby?" Mycroft's aloof attitude returned instantaneously as John's voice rose.

"It'd be best if you'd stay quiet, Dr. Watson. These walls are paper thin." He snapped, turning to lead Sherlock and John out of the room and through more halls until they reached a lovely bedroom obviously meant for guests of high stature. "I haven't seen the body yet but your crew from Scotland Yard has already blocked off the entire wing." Mycroft informed Sherlock and John. "They're combing the grounds as we speak to see if the murderer is still on the premises." Lestrade quickly hurried to their sides and shook his head.

"This one's just awful." He said lowly. "You can barely make the face out." Sherlock strode across the room to the white crib pushed against the far wall and peered into it a little uncertainly. John followed him and looked on from the detective's shoulder.

"I can't believe this." The doctor muttered. Sherlock's eyes roamed the mutilated tiny body lying in the crib. The face had been struck with something and was little more than bashed in, it was remarkable that the skull had retained some of its shape after all. The little chest was punctured with four tiny stab wounds that looked to be from a blade the size of a Swiss Army knife.

_**Blonde tufts of hair,**_

_**Hazel eyes- one is out of socket,**_

_**Obvious blunt force trauma to the face,**_

_**Four stab wounds,**_

_**Minimal coagulation around wounds, **_the detective pulled one rubber glove onto his left hand and reached around to feel the crown of the child's skull.

_**Soft spot on crown hasn't completely closed up as expected,**_ He peered at the body's slightly yellow primary teeth, the ones that had already come in glinted like tainted pearls among the gore inside the crib.

"The Duchess said she had laid him down for his nap while she retreated to the parlor to read." Mycroft said from behind Sherlock and John. "Then she heard gunshots and rushed in." His eyes were roaming the baby corpse as well with a hardened look of suspicion.

"Wait, weren't shots fired?" John asked, swallowing his rage and bile and looking at the baby. "There aren't any bullet wounds."

"Lestrade," Sherlock called over his shoulder. "Check the walls for bullets. Now." Minutes later the Detective Inspector produced a bag containing three tiny bullets.

"They were all in the headboard of the bed." He said as he passed the bag off to Sherlock. The detective took the bag and smirked while John felt his frown deepen.

"What the hell are you smiling about?" The doctor growled. "The prince has been killed! Have some respect, Sherlock!" The detective ignored the remark and tossed the bag to his brother. Mycroft caught it and mimicked the exact expression Sherlock was wearing, a mix of relief and satisfaction.

"What is it?" John asked warily.

"A fake." Sherlock answered. "This isn't Prince George."

"No, no, no, no. This is him. He has the same dressing gown on like he should and has the same hair color." Lestrade said, pointing past Sherlock for emphasis but avoiding getting too close to the corpse.

"Yes and if I wear a shabby trench coat with old coffee stains and pair it with a tie I'm immediately employed at Scotland Yard. Excellent work, Craig."

"Greg."

"I'll go inform the Duke and Duchess that their baby isn't lying mutilated in his crib." Mycroft said in a clipped but relieved tone. "Give your little American my best." He added before slipping into another room. John leaned one elbow on the bar of the crib and pointed down to the corpse lying swaddled in Prince George's blankets.

"Then who is that, Sherlock?" He asked lowly, "Somewhere a mother is missing her baby. Who is he?" Sherlock looked at the corpse again and frowned.

"The stab wounds were made post mortem, notice the odd coagulation around the punctures." He said, reaching into the crib and pressing his first two fingers on the baby's chest like he was checking for a pulse.

"One of the stab wounds broke a rib." Sherlock observed to John. The doctor pulled on a rubber glove and steeled his nerve before reaching towards the corpse. He gently applied pressure to the baby's chest and felt his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"The ribs are too flexible." He murmured, moving his hand around to feel the crown of the head like Sherlock had done. "And the anterior fontanel on the crown hasn't closed up yet. This baby is under a year old." John said in astonishment.

"Brilliant conclusion, John." Sherlock said, regaining his condescending tone. The doctor cut him a sharp glance and frowned.

"That still doesn't solve whose baby this is." He said. Sherlock pressed his lips together into a thin line.

"This is an orphan."

"And just how do you know that, Holmes?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock grimaced and set to explaining.

"Look at the arms and legs." He said, pointing to but not touching the corpse's extremities. He held his hand out for a wipe and Lestrade gingerly handed it to him. The detective gently wiped away the blood from the corpse's upper arms and thighs. He pointed to the almost flawless child's skin underneath the blood pointedly and raised his eyebrows.

"Tell me what's missing." He demanded. Lestrade squinted at the baby and shook his head.

"Shots." John said. "He's missing his injection shots." Sherlock nodded.

"He's under a year old, so he should have his Hepatitis B, Polio, Chicken Pox, Diptheria, Tetanus, Pertussis-"

"Sherlock we've got it." John interrupted. "He should have recently had shots but doesn't have any injection sites. So you're saying he's an orphan? How could he have survived without parents? What if they're just against injections?" Sherlock resisted the heavy urge to roll his eyes and instead opted for a mildly inconvenienced look.

"Why must you undermine everything I say?" He snapped. "Look at his teeth, it's horrible hygiene. Even though his primary teeth have begun to surface they're almost to the point of developing cavities. Perhaps he was raised by homeless people," He elaborated.

"Homeless people." Lestrade repeated.

"Or a poorly run convent." Sherlock added spitefully.

"Then can't you use your homeless network to see if people were attempting to raise a baby and it went missing?" John asked, ignoring the detective's harsh comment.

"I could." Sherlock answered. "But I have a feeling they gave up the baby willingly for something- money, protection, substances…"

"Can you not say something spiteful?" John barked, rubbing at his temples with the hand that wasn't wearing the rubber glove.

"I'm being completely serious." Sherlock retorted. "Normal peoples' morals can falter when presented with their biggest craving or weakness." He rolled his eyes at the angry look John was directing at him. "When we return to Baker Street I'll send out a message to the homeless network." He amended. "Lestrade, don't bother running any DNA tests; but do be sure to preserve the body as well as you can." He added before turning and discarding the rubber glove, then leaving with John behind him.

"You mustn't let this case affect you, John." Sherlock reprimanded them as the man in the suit led them out the back gates of Buckingham Palace and saw them past the fence. The waiting and impatient crowd of spectators went absolutely wild as soon as Sherlock and John left the grounds. Cameras focused on them and microphones were thrust in their faces as they pushed their way through the crowd and hailed a cab. They both climbed into it silently, and the only words uttered on the way back to Baker Street was the address given to the cabbie. John stared angrily at his lap and Sherlock silently reviewed the case in his mind palace.

. . .

When they turned onto Baker Street, however they were confronted with more sirens and flashing lights. This time instead of police cars the sirens belonged to fire trucks and ambulances. John quickly paid the cabbie his due and left the cab, but Sherlock was already gone. Mrs. Hudson was talking hurriedly to a fireman who was handing her a bottle of water and trying to calm her down. Sherlock pushed through the people crowding around the Baker Street apartments and darted up the stairs to the door.

"Sherlock," Madeline called. He spun around and frowned at the sight of her sitting on the tailgate of an ambulance again with a temporary oxygen mask held to her face by a paramedic and a yowling Sherry clutched in her arms.

"What happened?" He demanded. She shrugged and pushed the mask away from her face for a moment.

"Fire, I came home and 221 C was smoking. Mrs. Hudson got out and I had to grab Sherry from upstairs." She said before beginning to wheeze slightly and accepting the mask back onto her face. Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"And what happened to you?" He said, noting the soot smudged onto her face and smudging the bandages he'd wrapped onto her hands.

"A little smoke inhalation, no burns or anything." Madeline answered through the mask. "I'm okay." John joined them with a darkly concerned expression.

"You alright?" He asked, reaching to take her pulse and ignoring the disapproving look of the paramedic.

"Yeah I'm fine." Madeline told him.

"Were any of the flats damaged in the fire?" John asked, Madeline shook her head.

"Not 221 B or A, but I think C got torched. It's a good thing I moved out." She answered, cracking a small smile that didn't reflect on John or Sherlock's faces.

"So what happened with the case at Buckingham Palace?" She asked, waving the paramedic aside. He wandered off to do something else while Madeline remained seated on the tailgate of the ambulance. John scowled heavily and Sherlock gave her a tightlipped look.

"It was nothing serious." The detective told her. Madeline frowned and removed the mask from her face.

"If you don't tell me straight out I'll just watch the news and have to get the crap media side of it." She argued. Sherlock glared at her.

"A simple murder case." He told her.

"In _Buckingham Palace_?" Madeline retorted, "I doubt it would be simple if your _brother_ was calling me repeatedly to get a hold of you."

"You've reiterated how little you want to do with my cases." Sherlock growled. "So I'm withholding the information at your request." Madeline threw her hands in the air exasperatedly and the mask fell away from her face while Sherry slid out of her lap and twined herself around her owner's legs.

"You're kidding me! John, what happened, who was hurt?" She said, turning to the doctor.

"At first we thought it was Prince George of Cambridge," He said solemnly, "Then we found out that it wasn't him."

"Then who was it?" Madeline asked lowly.

"None of your business." Sherlock interjected icily, picking up the oxygen mask and pressing it into her hand firmly.

"Tell me."

"No."

"It was a different baby! Jesus Christ!" John exploded. "Someone switched Prince George with a baby's carcass and stabbed the body post-mortem." Madeline's confrontational expression disappeared and was replaced by remorse and contemplation.

"So someone has Prince George." She summarized. John nodded and Sherlock crossed his arms angrily. "W- have they asked for a ransom or something yet?" Madeline added.

"Nothing as of yet." Sherlock said shortly. "But even so that wouldn't be our problem."

"Damn right it would." Madeline snapped. "You took on that part of the case, don't you think you should finish it, too?" Sherlock leaned close to her and kept his teeth tightly gritted as he spoke.

"That's not my area. I don't care what happens to the Prince when it's not my work. Mycroft and Lestrade will be able to handle the scenario perfectly fine." He growled at her.

"That's no excuse. He's a baby, you at least need to see that he is found and returned safely." Madeline said hotly. "You say you're heartless but we all know you have the capacity to actually give a shit." John blinked, momentarily forgetting his anger before it returned.

"We need to help your brother and Scotland Yard however we can." He intoned in a low voice. "Perhaps by contributing to the investigation more than we already have." Sherlock scoffed.

"You're welcome to if it pleases you." He sneered, "But I did my part with the murder and I'm not going to have anything else to do with the case." Madeline folded her arms over each other, disregarding the oxygen mask until John nodded at it pointedly.

"Then we will." She said.

"No, you're not going to." Sherlock told her. Madeline cocked her head to the side and raised her eyebrows.

"And all of the sudden you can delegate what I can and can't do?" She asked him icily.

"When you're not in your right mind, yes." Sherlock retorted. The paramedic returned to take Madeline's blood pressure but John shook his head and the man quickly retreated from the fray.

"'Right mind'. What does that mean?" Madeline growled.

"When you're not thinking clearly and making rational decisions." Sherlock snapped back at her.

"I am rational, a little smoke won't impair my logic." She said in a voice dripping with acidic sarcasm. John drummed his hand on his thigh as an indication of his irritation.

"Your depression is what I'm talking about, I thought you'd be able to understand that."

"Sarcasm, Oh-Smart-One."

"Will both of you just belt up?" John shouted, interrupting them again and drawing a few curious glances from the nearby paramedics and firemen. "The prince is missing and you two are arguing like idiots in the middle of the street!" Sherlock glared at John and Madeline pulled Sherry back into her lap with one hand and held the oxygen mask to her face with the other.

"Both flats A and B are unharmed by the fire," A fireman said, approaching the tense scenario cautiously. Sherlock directed his glare to him and John nodded. "We opened the windows in the flats to let them air out, they still smell like smoke." The fireman added.

"We'll be fine, thanks." John said, clapping the fireman on the shoulder before turning back to Madeline and Sherlock as soon as he'd left.

"You two need to quit acting like goddamn babies. You can't do this right now; Sherlock we need to help your brother and the Yard find out where the prince is, and Madeline I'd rather you not come with us." The doctor said.

"I'm going to." She responded.

"I know." John said irritably, "If you're going to come then I at least need to see you take your medicine. I'm surprised you haven't had any depression just from hearing about the case." "I'm fighting it." Madeline said simply. "What are your leads?" She asked Sherlock. He gave her a distasteful glance and crossed his arms.

"Look, you can both tear each other's throats out later, right now we have to get back on this case!" John reprimanded them.

"Not right now we're not." Sherlock growled in a tone that was both authoritative and argumentative. "We're going to review information and formulate ideas before even attempting to act. Go inside." He ordered. John and Madeline both gave him defiant looks but after John frowned and walked back inside 221 Baker Street Madeline hopped off of the ambulance tailgate and herded Sherry inside by tapping her feet inches from the cat's hind legs to corral her inside.

. . .

"My guess is Magnussen and-or Antonio." Madeline said flatly as she watched Sherlock pace in front of her past the screen of the laptop. John sat in his chair, fuming in quiet anger.

"Kidnap the bloody prince…" Madeline heard him mutter under his breath. Sherlock ignored both of them and kept pacing.

"Of course it was him, or Antonio." He growled.

"We've covered that." Madeline reminded him coldly. "But what are we going to do about it?"

"There's been no sign of a ransom note." Sherlock continued, still muttering to himself. "We won't have any leads until a demand turns up."

"What about Magnussen then? Let's start with him." John said suddenly, speaking loudly instead of muttering to himself for a change. "Where does he live?"

"In a large mansion out in the countryside by the moors." Sherlock said absently before continuing to pace.

"Then let's get a warrant and go search the place." Madeline interjected into the silence. Sherlock turned to glare at her,

"It's not that simple." He snapped. "There's more to it than just waltzing up to Lestrade and asking politely for a search warrant. Besides," He added callously, "You don't have the authority to search a house."

"Well what about Mycroft?" Madeline said, trying to reign in her swelling temper. The cold feeling pricking at the bottom of her lungs alerted her to an oncoming depression swing, but she pressed her lips together into a thin line and clenched her teeth to maintain her patience. Sherlock rolled his eyes and glared at her while she sat in her chair and pecked at the keyboard absently.

"You've forgotten that my lovely brother is under Magnussen's thumb." He responded snidely.

"Then how do you expect we get close to him without one of us getting shot?" John asked hotly.

"Oh I don't know, we could just sashay up to Magnussen's front door and demand the prince." Sherlock said sarcastically. Madeline looked up from the laptop in her lap quickly.

"Sherlock, come look at this on the site." She said. The detective redirected his path and stood behind Madeline's chair. He braced his arms on its back and looked over Madeline's shoulder as she scrolled down John's blog to the "Submit a Case" section.

"A formal soirée at Appledore Manor on December 25; dress appropriately, attendance is admitted only by invitation." She read out, knitting her eyebrows together. When she finished Madeline looked over her shoulder and saw Sherlock glowering at the computer screen.

"Sherlock?"

"That's his mansion." He said shortly. "An almost too-perfect opportunity to approach him and figure out if he was the one who kidnapped the prince."

"You're not serious," John admonished, "We're just going to go to his house and demand the prince be returned?"

"And your ingenious plan is?" Sherlock snarled, rounding on the doctor irately. When all he received was a cold glare from John he huffed and continued.

"Of course it's a set up. Why else would he personally invite us there? This seems to be the only way to find out where the prince is and to get him back safely. Remember you two were the ones who pushed and begged to see the case through." He said bitingly.

"On Christmas Day," Madeline murmured. "Are we really going to go? What if Antonio is there?"

"I'd rather you not go." Sherlock told her calmly, completely on the opposite side of his previous mood swing. Madeline tilted her head back and looked at him behind her chair. He scowled and stared down at her.

"Don't even start."

"John! Do you know where the things are from your wedding?" Madeline all but shouted at the doctor as she slammed the laptop shut and sprang out of her chair.

"No." Sherlock interrupted.

"I still have Sherlock's tux, but your dress is gone." John said. "It was a little too torn up." Madeline bit her lip and rubbed at her wrists tersely.

"Then there's no time to lose." She said.

**A.N.- They're going to a partaaay. True a cliché and cleverly and conveniently placed party mind but a partayyyy.**

**Reviews and criticism are welcome, and a happy birthday to my roommate and fellow writer RavenclawStarkid13!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A.N.- New chapter! Yay! You have no IDEA how hard this was to write. I struggled with the last part (you'll see) as well as the very notion of taking a certain ship back a few steps thanks to the little shit and joy that we all know as Magnussen.**

**Grace- Thanks! I actually forgot an important bit but I'll just put it in the next chapter. (I've got an excellent slot that works out even better than before. Mwahah.)**

**RLMW- Perhaps… or maybe Miss Madeline could just shoot him again. Two for two, eh? (Nah, that'd be too much for her and way too cliché.) I'll figure something out, and I think everyone will be pleased with the ending I have planned so far.) *Mmmm what'cha say…***

**Guest- YOU ARE LIKE THE SHITTIEST ROOMMATE EVER. I WILL throw soap at you! It's America, we're free to do what we want! Thank you for letting me use your phone I love you Carter. **

**Enjoy!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch.8

It was cold. Bitingly cold. Sherlock and Madeline had no trouble at all in slipping in through Appledore's front entrance and joining the "party".

Sherlock was wearing the tuxedo he had worn to John's wedding and Madeline wore a long sleeved dress that John had "borrowed" from Mary's bureau, both lacked any fancier attire. Madeline had added cheap satin gloves to her outfit to hide the "M" scar on her hand, and Sherlock had reused the same bowtie from before. His hair was slicked back in an almost unflattering way, and Madeline had to resist the urge to muss it with her free hand. She tugged subconsciously on the sleeve of her dress and hoped that the fabric wouldn't expose her arms.

"Where's John?" She asked quietly as they stood just inside the ornate doors of Appledore.

"He's coming." Sherlock told her in a low voice. "Don't stand around, walk forward." He nudged the small of Madeline's back and she took an uneasy step forward, then another.

"Make a note of the party guests." Sherlock murmured to her. Madeline covertly watched peoples' mouths for any sign of disgruntlement or malcontent, but Sherlock shook his head and discreetly leaned down to her ear.

"Look at their hands, shoulders, and feet; then their eyes. And listen to their conversations- that'll give their discomfort away." He said, Madeline had to resist the urge to instinctively shy away from him and the close proximity as his nose brushed her ear.

"They're really quiet." She observed after a moment, the detective nodded and steered her between two couples that looked as if they had exquisite houses by Kensington Gardens. One woman had her black-gloved hand pressed to her collarbone protectively, and Madeline noticed how almost all the guests' eyes darted around the room suspiciously.

"They're all as twitchy as birds." She whispered to Sherlock.

"An interesting way to put it." The detective responded quietly. "That's because they're all here against their will." Madeline was quiet for a moment as she and Sherlock strolled between clusters of obviously affluent party guests.

"I thought you said it was all a set up for us. Did Magnussen blackmail them into showing up?" She mumbled. Sherlock released a breathy laugh that made her jump when it breezed by her neck.

"Don't be ridiculous," He snorted, still keeping his voice in a whisper. "Us making an appearance is just an addition to his soirée. This is for Magnussen himself, not to lure us in."

"But why?"

"Because he's taking inventory." Sherlock said impatiently.

"W- of these people?" Madeline asked, she almost spun around to look Sherlock in the eye but he firmly pushed her shoulder blades with his upper arm to keep her facing straight forward.

"Of course. Look at their clothing. These people are the epitome of socialites. It makes sense that Magnussen would have them all under his thumb at some point or another." Sherlock pointed out, "This is just the time he chose to see and gauge how tight of a grip he still has on them." Madeline frowned deeply as Sherlock maneuvered her to the farthest wall on the first floor.

"Sit," He demanded spinning her around and pushing her into a straight-backed chair. "I'll be back soon, wait for John." Sherlock said, and then he was gone. She couldn't even see his tall head bobbing among the sea of people, he just disappeared.

Madeline took a seat by the far wall and waited. She saw the bottoms of gowns and immaculately polished gentleman's shoes swing by her field of vision. She didn't know where Sherlock had gone, but she was nervous that Magnussen or Antonio or someone would find her sitting idly by in Appledore's main parlor room. The nervous flow of chitchat swept past Madeline's ears, and every once in a while she could hear snippets of conversations.

"I had no idea…"

"Up to her ears in debt."

"Have you seen _him_ yet?"

"The settlement deal went..."

"I don't know."

"Ugh, the nerve."

The words grew louder and louder, and Madeline could feel her left forearm start to burn where she had hastily traced four straight lines at intermittent angles on her skin before she and Sherlock had left. Her acid burns itched uncomfortably and she rubbed her hands together to ease the uncomfortable feeling.

"Hey," Something snatched her arm and Madeline instinctively jerked away. When she looked up she saw that it was just John in a button down shirt and black slacks. Madeline didn't ask why he wasn't wearing his tuxedo from his own wedding as he took a seat beside her, she kept staring down at her hands and then looking back up to watch the party guests sweep by in groups determined by the topic of conversation.

"Where's Sherlock?" John asked her nervously. It was obvious he was as uncomfortable as she was to be in the situation, if not more.

"He left. I don't know where." She whispered to him. His eyebrows shot up in surprise and then sank down and knitted in anger and confusion.

"He _left_?" She nodded. They sat in silence.

"Mary wanted to come, but I told her not to for her sake."

"And the baby's?"

"And the baby's."

"Ah."

"Why are you whispering?" John said. Madeline watched an old woman in a long evening dress confidently sashay by a group of elderly men, and it was obvious by how she held her head that she knew their gazes were following her.

"Sherlock was whispering." Madeline finally answered, "So I guess the place is bugged or wired or something."

"Alright." John conceded quietly, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat beside her. "I guess we'll just wait for him." Madeline nodded and resisted the urge to rub at her burning hands under their gloves and instead tapped the inside of her forearm discreetly to solicit a pain greater than that caused by the marks the acid had left.

. . .

Sherlock wove between the party guests inconspicuously. Nobody seemed to notice him, and if they did they kept quiet- almost as if they were hoping he would find Magnussen and do something to dissolve their blackmail-forged business ties. The detective huffed to himself, helping the socialites wasn't the first thing on his agenda presently.

After he had finished scouring the first floor for Magnussen Sherlock moved on to the second floor. He could see a nervous looking Madeline still pressed against the wall on the stool where he'd left her from the landing.

After searching the second floor Sherlock doubled back to the landing to check on Madeline again and was relieved to see that John had found her. They were both scowling at either the floor or the passing guests, and their body language read how uncomfortable they were. Sherlock frowned and continued to look for Magnussen.

"What are you doing here?" Mycroft growled. Sherlock cut his older brother an unamused glance and crossed his arms confrontationally.

"Working on the prince's case. And you?"

"I'm simply here for the cocktails." Mycroft returned dryly. Sherlock smirked painfully and leaned against the wall.

"Do you have _any_ information to offer me?" He asked coldly. Mycroft idly tilted the glass in his hand and inspected the last dregs of his drink.

"I'm afraid not, and even if I did I most definitely wouldn't divulge them to you here." He said finally. Sherlock nodded.

"Sensible enough. Chivalrous, no; but sensible." Mycroft's jaw tightened and he tapped his finger intermittently on the side of his glass.

_**Third floor. Office to office.**_

"You'd better be aware of what you're doing." He said. "Otherwise you're going to rack up an impressive bill for my people to deal with." Sherlock smirked and crossed his arms, tapping the fingers of his left hand erratically on his forearm.

_**Got it.**_

"I have an idea of what to do, don't worry." He said, flashing what he hoped looked like a confident smirk. His brother grunted disapprovingly and turned away to speak to an important-looking man who was impatiently tapping him on the shoulder. Sherlock regained his frown and mulled over Mycroft's hasty Morse code message. There was no third floor to Appledore, he'd checked.

Unless…

The detective stamped back down the steps to the first floor and slid between the party guests with ease. When he passed the wall he'd left Madeline by she caught his eye and raised her eyebrows in a panicked expression. Sherlock shook his hand and made a discreet "calm down" motion before he continued to the office he'd previously checked. Thankfully it was empty, but that didn't reveal any secret staircase or lift. He frowned and strode to the nearest wall before inspecting it closely. He plucked sharply at the lapel of his tuxedo and scrutinized the particles of dust that emanated from the cloth from the action.

They swirled about aimlessly in the air for a few seconds and then flew away from the wall to settle on the plush carpet. Sherlock's frown deepened and he repeated the exercise with each of the other walls. On his third try the dust floated in the air and then drifted towards the wall itself. Sherlock smirked triumphantly and knocked on the wall once, then on another section about a foot away from it. The two knocks solicited different sounds, one sounded hollow and the other was small and filled. Sherlock scrutinized the wall for a second before spinning away from it and inspecting the rest of the room.

He saw small heating vents scattered on the bottom of the wall just above the carpet, and noted the light sockets placed randomly on the walls. The detective paced the length of the room, hugging the walls and inspecting the ornate paintings hanging off of them. Upon finding none of the paintings lifted or slid to the side to reveal secret switches Sherlock growled in frustration. He continued to pace around the room and froze as voices grew louder and neared the office.

Sherlock pressed himself against the wall and held his breath unnecessarily until the conversation meandered away from the door. When he felt sure the people were gone he continued walking the perimeter of the room and stopped when he walked past one particular heating vent that wasn't emitting a steady flow of warm air. Sherlock could feel a grin slide onto his face as he slammed the heel of his boot onto the top edge of the vent grate. The force of the blow easily knocked the plate from its spot and it clattered to the carpet with a muffled clang. The detective immediately dropped to his knees and peered inside the vent to try and find a switch of some sort to open the door to lead to the third floor.

A small, almost inaudible click resonated through the vent and a small section of the paneled tin on the side of the heating vent bent outwards towards Sherlock's hand as if there was a switch concealed underneath it.

_**A hidden switch underneath the metal.**_

_**Pop the metal back into place, trigger the door.**_

_**And vice-versa.**_

Sherlock scrambled backwards and jerked away from the vent, but the door in the wall panel was already moving inwards. Charles Magnussen descended a flight of stairs into the office, speaking over his shoulder at a suit-clad Antonio behind him. Sherlock jumped into an upright position and was tugging on the bottom of his suit jacket innocuously by the time the businessman and the drug lord took notice of him. A large smirk curled Magnussen's mouth.

"Good evening, Mr. Holmes. I was wondering why you hadn't stopped by the third floor yet. Are you finding everything alright?" He asked, flicking his eyes briefly to the gaping heating vent. After he wipes the astonished look off of his face Antonio pulled on his cuffs and then curled his hands around his collar in a self-comforting motion. Sherlock glared at him and held his hands behind his back professionally.

"I received your invitation, thank you for being so cordial." He said icily. Magnussen inclined his head courteously and Antonio scowled.

"You're supposed to be dead." He growled. Sherlock spread his hands condescendingly and smiled.

"And yet here I am. You seem to be more inept than I'd originally thought." Antonio took three long steps across the office and grabbed Sherlock by the collar. The detective allowed himself to be shoved backwards into the wall as Antonio glared at him vehemently. The drug lord landed one good punch to Sherlock's face before Charles cleared his throat pointedly.

"Were you the ones who set Baker Street on fire?" Sherlock asked over Antonio's shoulder. Magnussen nodded his head towards Antonio.

"I proposed the notion. Antonio actually carried it out, however." He said. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him and physically detached Antonio's hand from his lapel, then pushed him away and ignored the dangerous look the drug lord gave him.

"Prince George." The detective said. "Where is he?"

"Awaiting the right time to reappear." Charles said mysteriously. Sherlock scoffed.

"Don't be so coy." He snapped, finally losing his patience with the businessman. "Tell me where the prince is. Now!"

"Be patient, Mr. Holmes- you're being ever so taxing of my patience and energy." Magnussen said smoothly. "Why would the young prince's whereabouts interest you? I thought you were only into murders." The question sounded like a genuine inquiry, but the telltale smirk at the corner of Magnussen's mouth said that he knew exactly why.

"And how is Dr. Watson?" He asked, striding to and taking a seat behind the desk while Antonio still stood in front of Sherlock. The businessman picked up a pen and turned it in his fingers indecisively. "And Miss Carver? I trust her hands are alright." Sherlock didn't say anything, but Charles noted his jaw tightening momentarily and just smiled.

"Did they accompany you here tonight? I know I saw your brother so I do know I have his support."

"'His support'. Please, you're just taking inventory of who you have on your blackmail list." Sherlock snipped. Magnussen shrugged and Antonio shifted his weight on his feet before stepping away from the detective to give Magnussen clearer access to him.

"I could be. It's excellent- a bit comforting, I daresay- to have you on that list." The businessman said, placing the pen back where he'd gotten it.

"You have nothing over me." Sherlock said shortly, trying not to open a window farther into the conversation and carefully making sure to guard his facial expressions. The door opened and Madeline stumbled in with John right behind her.

"Found you!" She panted, "I didn't see you come out, and Mycroft said you'd be-"She stopped midsentence when she noticed Antonio standing near the detective and Magnussen sitting behind the desk.

"Oh you're bleeding." She murmured, quietly noting the fresh bruise on Sherlock's cheekbone and his newly split lip. John stepped up to stand beside Madeline, squaring his shoulders back and glaring at both Antonio and Magnussen.

"We know you both had something to do with the kidnapping of Prince George. Where is he?" John demanded strongly. He made Madeline glad she didn't have to speak to Antonio or Charles, they both terrified her. She clenched and relaxed her hands repeatedly in an attempt to use the friction between the gloves and her bandages to ease the itching from the healing acid burns. Magnussen pushed his glasses up his nose nonchalantly with his pointer finger and squinted at John dramatically.

"Oh yes. Hello, Dr. Watson, a pleasure to finally meet you." He said cordially, like he was starting a simple business meeting. John's right hand twitched, almost like he was going to reach for something in his belt; but Madeline knew it was just a gesture to insinuate a bluff. She, John, and Sherlock were uncharacteristically unarmed. Antonio and Sherlock both stepped forward, Antonio to intercept John and Sherlock to stop the drug lord. Magnussen made an irritated noise and Antonio stepped back.

"How're your hands feeling?" He added snarkily, Madeline glared at him, but didn't respond. Charles sighed exasperatedly.

"Mr. Holmes I'd rather not implement your death or surrender sooner than possible but you keep interfering with my business transactions." He said, sounding like a tired old man.

"Again, you have nothing over me." Sherlock snapped more forcefully than the last time. Magnussen huffed a laugh and twirled his hand at Antonio, motioning for him to leave. The drug lord glared at Sherlock again before trudging to the door and leaving with the demeanor of a sulking child.

"I've told you before, my weapon isn't in a gun or a knife. It's my knowledge, you should have remembered that." Magnussen said scathingly before turning to John. "You're married to the lovely Mary Moran, correct?"

"Her name was _Morstan_." John growled at him, "And now she's Mary Watson."

"Ah, so that's the name she introduced herself to you by." Charles said wryly. John pressed his lips into a thin line and frowned.

"I know she has alternate identities- had, rather. She's my wife now so frankly I don't give a damn about who she was." He snapped. There was a small silence before Magnussen burst into gales of cold and mocking laughter.

"That's so impressive and romantic! I applaud you, I truly do; but there _are_ certain people who _do _care about who your wife is- or used to be at the very least." The businessman chortled. John's frown evolved into a scowl again, but he waited impatiently for Magnussen to say something else.

"As I said, certain people would _love_ to know where Ms. Moran-"

"Morstan." Madeline said suddenly, feeling the cuts on her arms burn. Charles gave her a patronizing glance with undertones that read "_I'll deal with you later"_.

"-is." He continued. "And nothing is stopping me from releasing and broadcasting her whereabouts and new alias to the world." John's jaw clenched in anger, and Sherlock took yet another step forward.

"You can get back to that wall again, Mr. Holmes." Magnussen said calmly, opening a chrome-colored laptop on the desk in front of him. "I have all of Ms. Mary's information right here." He said, keeping his hands still and staring pointedly at the laptop screen. "And I can easily give it to people who would love to put a bullet through her head. Perhaps you'd like to rethink your next move?" Sherlock frowned.

"Then we'll confiscate your computer." He said quickly, trying to stall and figure out a way to wrangle the laptop from the businessman. Magnussen huffed a short laugh and turned to Madeline.

"Miss Madeline Ashley Carver. A pleasure to see you again." He made a show of clicking on and typing things into the computer. "My file says you have severe bipolar and depression disorder and currently take a steady flow of medication to suppress your swings. How interesting, you're also the one who shot Jim Moriarty." Madeline tried to glare at him unabashedly but could only muster a timid look.

"How do you know all of that? Some sort of database?" Charles laughed lightly.

"Close to that. I'd wager that there are some other people out there who would love to have your name, number, and address; wouldn't you?" He said.

"No," She said shortly, simultaneously answering the businessman and daring him to actually send the information out. Charles directed a sly look at Sherlock, who understood what the businessman was talking about.

"Don't disclose John, Mary, or Miss Carver's information to anyone. Understood?" He growled. Magnussen's grin just spread farther across his face.

"Then why don't you hit her?"

"What?" John gasped.

"I wasn't speaking to you, Dr. Watson. But if Mr. Holmes proves incapable of doing what I asked you're welcome to take his place." Charles told him. John curled his hands into tight fists and crossed his arms.

"No."

"Luckily I wasn't talking to you, Dr. Watson. Not with a closed fist of course, no need for excessive violence." Magnussen said condescendingly picking up right where he'd left off and directing his words to Sherlock. "Just a quick pop across the face." Madeline turned to Sherlock and balled her fists. She spread her feet a shoulder width apart and gave him a nervous smile. She'd seen him use force before, but trusted that he wouldn't hit her too hard.

And it would keep herself, Mary, John, Sherlock, and the Watsons' unborn baby safe.

Sherlock swung his hand up and made contact with Madeline's left cheek. It didn't really hurt. It stung a little; but was almost a faint memory of her being scolded as a child. Just an easy little move, not violent.

And apparently not violent enough.

Madeline looked to Magnussen as soon as Sherlock's hand left her face. The businessman wore an unamused expression with raised eyebrows.

"Now really," He chastised, "You might as well not even try. Again." Madeline started and John gave both Sherlock and Magnussen a dangerous look, then moved beside Madeline defensively. Sherlock moved incredibly fast and spun, bringing his hand across her face sharply. Madeline staggered backwards and cupped her hand to her face, first her right check felt numb, then it started to tingle. It was more the shock and force of the blow rather than the injury that surprised her. No sooner had his hand left Madeline's face than Sherlock spun to face Magnussen.

"There, done. Hand over your computer." He growled. John tilted Madeline's chin to see if her nose was bleeding, but instead just found a small but rapidly spreading bruise. Magnussen released a belt of laughter into the office and leaned back in his chair.

"And because you're in such a disposition to take it from me." He said, his voice gained its razor sharp edge the longer he spoke, sounding threatening and menacing. After another minute of tense silence Magnussen sighed and shut his computer, then pushed his chair back from the desk and stood.

"Well, that was uneventful." He said disappointedly, "I can see you're not going to be of any use to me right now." He clapped Sherlock on the shoulder amicably and the detective grimaced. "Why don't you lot go on home and rest up? Maybe you'd be more threatening if you actually have something to say." Charles said with patronizing kindness. He removed his hand from Sherlock's shoulder and strode confidently to the door. He held it open courteously and used his other hand to gesture towards the space past the door, where Antonio was waiting against the wall on the other side of the hall.

Madeline was the first to move. She took short, quick steps towards the door and didn't slow down when she passed Magnussen, although she did feel the right side of her body tense apprehensively as she walked past him and could feel him looking at her reddened and bruising cheek smugly. John followed her, and had to resist the urge to deck Magnussen when he smiled at him. Sherlock exited last, and made sure to give the businessman a cold glare when he passed him, to which he received a mocking smile. As soon as he shut the door behind them Magnussen nodded at Antonio, and the drug lord stepped up and almost caught John by the collar to escort him out; but the doctor stepped to the side and moved towards the door vehemently with Sherlock and Madeline.

"Do give Miss Moran my regards," Charles called after them. John spun around to deliver a hot remark and probably a blow to the face but Madeline forcibly body-slammed him towards the door to keep him from turning and striking Antonio or Magnussen and worsening the situation. Antonio smirked and all but shoved the three out of Appledore's front door.

"I'll shoot you again one day." He said like he was ending a phone call with an old friend.

"We'll see." Sherlock said, not hiding his anger very well. Antonio smirked and shut the door in the detective's face. As soon as he had Sherlock spun back to John and Madeline.

"Are you alright?" He asked tersely. It took Madeline a second to realize he was speaking to her and another moment to realize he was referring to where he had hit her. Her hand subconsciously flew to her cheek and pressed the skin she winced a little bit at the sudden pain.

"Fine," She said, "Just a little sore." Sherlock made a disapproving noise and strode down the gravel drive to Appledore.

"John, did you bring your car?" He snapped over his shoulder, John scowled.

"No, I took a cab out. I don't even own a car." He responded, "And why did you just leave?"

"I'm not explaining this to you at present." Sherlock growled, walking so fast Madeline and John had to jog to keep up with him.

"You'd better." John countered, "That psycho in there just threatened my wife and baby!"

"Oh John shut up!" Sherlock said to him. "He's not going to get to Mary, or the baby. They'll be fine."

"You've been repeating that a lot lately." Madeline muttered. Sherlock glared at her coldly and she glowered back at him before she had to lower her eyes to the ground. She was furious with herself, but her anger was overridden by the overwhelming urge to curl up with her cat under blankets after purposefully banging her hip on a counter corner or adding another cut to the inside of her arm. Her hand touched her right cheek gingerly again and pressed on it hard to solicit a pain greater than her anger and fermenting sad feelings.

"So are we going to be able to hail a cab?" John called to Sherlock. The detective huffed and spun in 360 degrees without stopping or slowing his pace and threw his hands up.

"Of course not! We're in the middle of the countryside! We have to walk for a while to actually reach civilization!" He shouted, his voice echoing across the moors. Madeline frowned and cast a cautious glance over her shoulder back at Appledore to make sure no one had heard them shouting and arguing with each other. Sure enough, Charles Magnussen was standing on the front steps of Appledore, watching them retreat from his property with a satisfied smirk on his face.

"So what are we going to do now?" Madeline asked Sherlock. He shook his head and stopped flat. He spun around to face her and although Madeline couldn't see his face the tone of his voice scared her. It sounded pained and angry at the same time.

"You're not going to do anything."

"Why not?"

"Because you're going home."

**A.N.- Eh. I'm exhausted. But I got it done. Enjoy! Magnussen's actor is going to be appearing at the con! YAY!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A.N.- New one! Ta-daa! Pretty straightforward. I just kind of BS-ed a large amount of this chapter, so you have my deepest apologies. (Well I didn't try to BS it and it's not really BS… just lots and lots of description while I have no idea what to write.) Ehehe...heh. That's me being an artful procrastinator. **

**RLMW- Yeahhhh, she gets the shit beaten out of her quite often. But isn't that what you're supposed to do with your OC? She'll get better, I swear….. **

**Guest and Your Roommate- I swear to God… just go ahead and kill all of my characters, I'm waiting for you to send me those other lovely death scenes as well as that lemon we discussed.**

**BYTHEWAY: My lovely… friend from down the hall (RomeoBlack123) wrote an… interesting lemon. I might just post it as an extra bonus feature chapter at the end of the story. Is anyone cool with that or would like to see it? No? Great! (Please do let me know though. That will determine whether or not it's featured.)**

**Enjoy.**

The Dame of Baker Street: Mind Games, Ch. 9

"I'm not going back to America."

"Of course you are."

"No!"

"You will. And that's final."

"Hell no."

They'd been going at it for almost an hour, and John was at his wits end worrying about Mary and what was going to happen. Madeline had her shoes clutched in her hand by the heels as they tramped along the road and looked like she wanted to beat Sherlock up the head with them. They hadn't gotten very far, but John could see the lights of the next big town only about three-fourths of a mile away. He hoped they'd be able to hail a cab and rush back to Mary and Baker Street as soon as possible. Madeline made sure to walk on the cold pavement of the road as she argued with Sherlock. The icy cold pavement burned the soles of her bare feet, but she kept her shoes firmly held in her hand and used the pain in her feet, arms, hands, and face to try and reign in her anger; but even that wasn't enough.

"I'm not going back." She snapped.

"You are," Sherlock returned hotly. "You can go back to your labs and collaborations with Johns Hopkins and Harvard, go live a happy life." Madeline ignored the barbed comment and scowled in the darkness. The only reason they could still see the road was because of the moonlight reflecting off of the ice sparsely dotting the road like patches of silver.

"And running back to the States is going to solve these cases how?" She snapped finally. "It's not going to stop Magnussen."

"You're still being thick," Sherlock growled at her. "It's not about bringing him down, that's not your concern. You are going back to America."

"And what makes you think I'll do that?" Madeline argued. "You can't forcibly deport me from England."

"I think Mycroft would agree with me." Sherlock retorted over his shoulder, "He could definitely pull a few strings to get you back into your native country and keep you there."

"After four years of living here? I've almost got my visa! And I swear to God if you say one more word about sending me home again-"She growled at him. Sherlock stopped flat and spun to face her angrily.

"It's not my first choice nor my favorite, but it's definitely not yours. All you'd be doing is being a hindrance to me by serving as a chink for Magnussen to expose, so you're leaving." He snarled.

"No!" Madeline shouted, brandishing her shoes in his face. "That's running away!"

"Courage and bravado don't matter! He's already tried to burn down the flats and you and Mrs. Hudson with them, burned your hands, and threatened John's family!" Sherlock shouted back. The doctor's head snapped up at the mention of his wife and child, then he went back to focusing on walking, too tired and occupied by his own thoughts to break up the argument.

When they finally reached the town it was almost too easy to hail a cab back to London, but the entire ride was tense and charged with anger and malcontent. The cab dropped John off at his house first, and he all but sprinted inside the building to get to Mary. Without John, the awkward silence grew even worse. Madeline was jittery with anger and fear, but also felt extremely drained. She hadn't ridden out a depression swing by using anger in a while, and it was seriously taxing. Sherlock didn't look at her, he glared straight ahead until the cab stopped at Baker Street, then paid the cabbie and stalked inside without waiting for Madeline. As soon as she'd made it into 221 B Madeline collapsed on the couch. She didn't see Sherlock in the living room and assumed he'd uncharacteristically opted to use his own bedroom for the night. As soon as her head made contact with the couch she was asleep, ready to trade the harrowing events of the evening for her dreams.

. . .

Mary sat on the couch nervously, her hands splayed over her large belly protectively. John sat beside her comfortingly and Madeline sat in her chair. Sherlock paced on the floor between them furiously.

"I should have known you'd been involved with him." He said to Mary, but it wasn't in too harsh of a tone. Mary didn't answer him, she just rubbed her stomach and took John's hand.

"We're still not any closer to figuring out who kidnapped Prince George." Madeline interjected.

"That's not the most pressing matter on the table." Sherlock told her, dropping the tone he'd held with Mary and opting for an angrier one. Madeline pressed her lips together and frowned, too tired and stressed to start another argument with him again. She leaned to the side to brace her cheek on her hand but winced and had to forego the action. She'd woken up that morning with a large purple and yellow bruise that stretched from the skin between her hairline and her cheekbone down to her jawbone. It looked bad, but after a few tries Madeline was able to cover the majority of the mark with heavy concealer and arranged her hair to hide as much of it as she could. Unfortunately, makeup and a new hairstyle didn't deter the looks Sherlock gave her. They were angry, and Madeline couldn't tell whether they were for himself or her. A few of the looks she caught seemed self-loathing, so Madeline made sure to keep the right side of her face turned away from him.

"Can you get them witness protection or something?" John asked, raising an eyebrow nervously. Sherlock snorted and threw a disdainful glance at a passing Sherry.

"That's ridiculous, it wouldn't even apply to them." Sherlock said. "And we can't ask Scotland Yard or Mycroft for favors anymore, they're under Magnussen's control."

"One, we're right here and can hear you." Madeline said, "Two, I still don't understand how your brother- _almost the face of MI6_ and _Scotland Yard_ can't do anything. They're huge." She murmured, knitting her brows and shaking her head. She was careful not to move her head enough to expose the bruise underneath her hair, and she could feel Sherlock watching her with a scrutinizing look.

"_Because_," He said, "Magnussen has a strong hold over them."

"With information. Can't they find something to exploit him and get rid of what he has over them?"

"No. The problem is that Magnussen had established sway over them before they could even rally to gather information on him. They've been on the bottom and struggling to hide it ever since." Sherlock snapped.

"So Magnussen made the British government his bitch and there's nothing we or even MI6 can do about it." Madeline said flatly, bouncing the flat of her palm rhythmically on her thigh and ignoring the sharp look John gave her. Sherlock stood quickly and began rummaging through things on the desk. Madeline did her best to give Mary and John a smile and start a conversation that wouldn't revolve around their deaths or the impressive blackmail imposed on the country by one man.

"How's the nursery coming along?" She asked. Mary gave her a terse smile and didn't remove her hands from her stomach and John's grasp.

"It's coming along just fine. I've got all the walls painted and now we're just trying to get the furniture." She said.

"Do you know what it's going to be?" Madeline asked. Mary's smile grew genuine, and a hint of a grin appeared on John's face as well.

"It's 'Baby It' right now. We're going to wait to find out a few days before delivery and then let everyone know once the baby is born." He said. Madeline nodded and opened her mouth to ask another polite question but was interrupted by an envelope thrust into her face by Sherlock.

"Mycroft may be lacking in power at present- what with us stirring up trouble with Magnussen- but he was able to procure a one-way ticket into the D.C. airport. His last miracle, if you will." He said coldly. Madeline took the envelope to get it out of her face and quickly turned to keep the right side of her face angled away from the detective, but he scowled.

"And you can take your cat with you." He added. Madeline thought about throwing the envelope on the floor but instead laid it on the arm of her chair and smiled pleasantly at him.

"No way in hell." She said cordially. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her but she had already turned back to John and Mary. They kept talking about the baby, how John's clinic-hopping was going, anything to make the small moment seem normal amid all the chaos going on. Sherlock kept pacing on the ground and tried to map out ways to get to Antonio or Magnussen in his mind palace. Truth be told, he wasn't even half listening to the conversation in the living room, there were more pressing matters than the size booties Mary was crocheting for the baby. His thoughts were interrupted when John tapped him on the shoulder and reiterated that he and Mary were leaving.

"We're heading out." He said. Sherlock turned and shook John's hand firmly.

"Be careful." The detective cautioned. Mary stepped up and wrapped her arms around the detective warmly, smiling a little when Sherlock tensed. Mary took John's hand and led him gently to the door.

"We'll call you if we hear anything or think of a lead." John said, waving his hand slightly at Madeline. She nodded and gave him a small smile, but Sherlock had already gone back to pacing. John and Mary left quietly, but they didn't take the shroud of sobriety out of 221 B with them. Madeline pulled her legs up into the chair with her and curled up. Sherlock kept pacing, and after Madeline turned her head to follow his trail around the living room twice she sighed and selected _Peter Pan_ from the bookshelf, the same book she'd read when Sherlock was in the hospital. The bookshelf had almost become overridden with Madeline's books instead of Sherlock's. She read for most of the afternoon, not really paying attention to Sherlock or Sherry. When she finally looked up the afternoon sun was hidden behind clouds that promised rain.

"You've been reading all afternoon. Did it take you that long to finish such a simplistic book?" Sherlock asked condescendingly as he took a seat in his chair across from her. Madeline uncurled from her chair and stretched.

"No, I reread my favorite scenes a couple of times." She said, dog-earing the page she was on and closing her book. "It's a great stress reliever, maybe you should try it." The detective gave her a sharp look and rose from his chair to stalk into the kitchen. He returned with a cup of tea for himself and a mug of coffee for Madeline. She raised her eyebrows and accepted the drink, always wary of Sherlock's atrocious coffee-making skills.

"We need to talk." He said monotonously. Madeline regarded the coffee cautiously and sipped it, then tried not to gag. It tasted like Sherlock's normal attempt at making coffee, but she was determined to drink it.

"About?" She said, warily ready to dig her feet in about being deported from England and having to go back to America. Sherlock scowled into his cup of tea before continuing.

"Magnussen. He's dangerous."

"Yes, that's been established." Madeline returned quietly. The detective frowned as Sherry stalked by him and hopped into Madeline's lap.

"So you understand why I had to comply with him." He said lowly. Madeline felt herself relax. So he was just going to talk about the night before, she could deal with that. If he got too self-guilty she could assuage him and keep him from beating himself up over the event. Sherlock cleared his throat and Madeline jerked back to reality and realized that she'd been silent while thinking.

"Yeah, I do." She said to him, resisting the urge to fight back a yawn. It definitely wasn't the proper time or situation to yawn. Sherlock cleared his throat and set his tea aside. Madeline felt a sudden wave of exhaustion wash over her, apparently she was finally coming off of her adrenaline from the night before and it was finally taking its toll.

"I tried to hit you more by your ear than straight across your face, I hope it's not as bad as it looks." Sherlock said. Madeline took another desperate sip of her coffee to stave off the increasing weight of her eyelids, but that just seemed to make it worse.

"Wow, thanks." She said sarcastically, subconsciously reaching a hand up to cover the bruise. "It'll fade after a little while." She added to deter the loathing she noticed on Sherlock's face, it seemed a little too excessive for just an open-handed slap, even if he did care.

"It won't happen again." He said solemnly. "I won't let it." Madeline smiled and rubbed at her eyes.

"Don't get me wrong, protecting me is really great, almost every girl dreams of having a great guy to back her up and look out for her; but you trying to protect me so much is kind of just making yourself vulnerable" She said sleepily. "I can take care of myself in most situations." She added, ignoring the way Sherlock's eyes gravitated towards the ceiling disbelievingly. He seemed to reign in his irritation when it was quickly usurped by a brooding expression.

"I think I'm going to go to bed." Madeline said as she stood from her chair and yawned. Sherlock's eyes followed her to the kitchen as she washed her coffee mug out and ignored the dregs in the bottom. "Night," She said, wobbling back into the living room out of exhaustion and making her way to Sherlock's chair. She pressed her lips to his temple and he tensed, not unlike he did on some occasions when she kissed him.

"Love you." She mumbled before clicking her tongue to call Sherry and plodding down the hallway to her room, still in her day clothes. Sherlock watched her go, allowing a pained expression to take residence on his face.

"I do too." He said, "So forgive me."

. . .

Madeline woke up when the ground started moving. She bolted upright and reached for Sherry, but the cat was gone. When her eyes adjusted to the blackness around her she could feel something leathery underneath and behind her. She instinctively kicked out and heard an irritated grunt when her leg struck something solid. Something clicked and a light turned on, illuminating the interior of a very nice looking car and an indignant and inconvenienced looking Mycroft Holmes sitting in the far corner of the row of seats.

"What's going on?" Madeline demanded. "Where am I?"

"Don't panic, Miss Carver. You're on your way to Heathrow Airport." Mycroft said.

"What? Why?" She shrieked. The older Holmes cut her a sharp look.

"Calm yourself down, it'd be a pain to drug you again." He snapped. Madeline stopped short.

"When? You didn't drug me-"She gasped. "The coffee! What the hell…."

"To be fair, I didn't put anything in your drink. That was actually my dearest brother." Mycroft said. Madeline could feel her eyes widen as the car bumped over pavement.

"W- so how- _why_ did he do that?" She whispered, pressing herself against the seat frantically.

"I told you to calm down. I thought he'd told you about the plan. Weren't you informed that you'd be going back to America?" Mycroft said.

"No, we argued about it; I never said I'd go back there." Madeline snapped, growing angrier by the minute.

"Well long story short you are." He responded as the car slowed to a stop. Madeline whirled and stared out the window at the tarmac beyond the carparks and the fence separating them from the runway.

"No, no, no, no I'm not." She said, laughing nervously to keep the quiver out of her voice. The door nearest to her opened, and a large-looking man held out his hand to her like an escort.

"I'm not going." Madeline repeated frantically, "You can't forcibly deport me." Mycroft sighed.

"Yes I can. While MI6 may be- impaired at present I still have the authority to boot you out of my country at any moment." He said tersely.

"For what?" Madeline asked, her voice jumping to a high pitch as the escort forcibly pulled her out of the car. She pulled away from the man at first but when he tightened his grip on her arm she began to panic.

"No! You can't send me back! I have to stay here!" She shouted as the man dragged her through the airport and Mycroft followed behind with an exasperated expression and another man who carried Madeline's suitcase. They were able to skip security and bag check when Mycroft flashed an ID to the TSA agent. Madeline was escorted through Heathrow roughly, and luckily the people loitering by the terminals were very few and in between, probably the people who were waiting for their overnight flight connections.

"Your flight boards in fifteen minutes." Mycroft said to a struggling Madeline. "But you're getting on now."

"No, I'm not." She protested, leaning away from the escort and digging her heels into the carpet. "Sherlock!" She shouted. Mycroft made an aggravated noise and leaned down to her ear.

"You're hurting him." He whispered coldly. "Get on the plane." Madeline felt her anger dwindle, then snuff itself out completely. She quieted down and solemnly allowed a perky flight attendant to escort her and the elder Holmes onto the plane.

Mycroft made sure her bag was stowed in the overhead compartment and that Madeline was going to stay in her "lovely" window seat and not try to bolt from the plane.

"Wait! What about Sherry?" She asked in a panic, Mycroft gave her an odd look.

"He's going to remain in London."

"No, my cat." Mycroft's face relaxed.

"Your animal will be flown overseas, including all of your other items besides what was packed beforehand. Don't fret about it excessively." He said, sounding like his brother as he pulled a book from his coat and handed it to Madeline. She gingerly took it and turned it over to inspect the cover, it was her copy of _Peter Pan_ that she'd been reading only a few hours earlier. She flipped the book open to the page she had stopped at when she noticed that its dog-eared corner was bent even farther than before. The pages bore the same normal scene she loved to read- all of the Darling children being led to Neverland by a rambunctious and adventurous Peter Pan. The only thing different was the scrawl across the text in black ink.

It looked hasty and messy, but Madeline could recognize it as Sherlock's handwriting. He had circled a bit of text on the page and written a note to it that would take some time to decipher because of the messy writing.

"He wanted me to give that to you to tide you over on the flight. Do not leave this plane until it docks in Atlanta Airport." Mycroft said in a clipped tone before he turned promptly on his heel and left as other passengers began to board the plane. Madeline sat in her seat and didn't make eye contact with anyone. Instead she stared blankly at the note Sherlock had left her until she decided to actually read it.

He had circled the paragraph that read: _"__I'm Wendy," she said agitatedly._

_He was very sorry. "I say, Wendy," he whispered to her, "always if you see me forgetting you, just keep on saying 'I'm Wendy,' and then I'll remember."_

_Of course this was rather unsatisfactory. However, to make amends he showed them how to lie out flat on a strong wind, and they could sleep thus with security._ Beside the words Sherlock had written: _**I am very sorry. Don't forget the knight in rusty armor. –Regards, SH**_

Madeline could feel tears streaming down her face and could feel her chest being torn to shreds, but at the same time felt empty beyond comparison. Someone took their seat beside her on the plane and Madeline quietly wiped at her eyes and resigned herself to staring out the window at the tarmac until the plane had taken off. She could see Heathrow Airport disappear underneath a thick sea of clouds in the night as the plane took off for its overnight trip. Madeline bolted upright quickly and pulled her phone out of her pocket. The reminder to power off cell phones hadn't blazed over the loudspeaker yet, so she still had time. Madeline quickly dialed Sherlock's phone number into the device and held it to her ear. She knew he hated speaking on the phone, but she wanted to hear his voice. The phone rang for a few minutes before a polite but electronically automated voice came through the loudspeaker instead of Sherlock's.

_"We're sorry, you are no longer allowed to contact this number. Have a pleasant day." _The voice said. _"If you would like to repeat this message, please press three. If not, have a pleasant day."_ Madeline almost burst into tears again. He couldn't be sending her away. It had to be Mycroft acting on his own accord.

But the note…

She leaned against the window and shut her eyes tightly as the airplane's PA system politely asked for everyone to turn off their phones. She clutched the book tightly in her hands and tried to resign herself to curling up uncomfortably in the airplane chair on the long and arduous flight back to "home".

. . .

_"No, you can't send me back! I have to stay here!"_

_ "No I'm not!"_

_ "Sherlock!"_

The detective sat emotionless in front of the laptop, watching the security tapes over and over. Mycroft had granted him privacy to Heathrow's cameras for one hour so he could see that Madeline got safely onto the plane. He had been worried that he had underestimated how strong the Rohypnol dose he'd added to her coffee would be and whether or not she would wake up before her plane left or not.

Sherlock frowned and watched Mycroft usher Madeline into the plane emotionlessly. That was why Sherlock hadn't been allowed to take Madeline to the airport himself; Mycroft didn't trust him enough to actually continue through with the plan. So when his brother and some crony had come to pick up an unconscious Madeline up and stuff her into a black tinted car Sherlock had passed Mycroft the book Madeline had been reading that he'd scribbled a small but heartfelt note into.

The detective did his best to glower at Sherry when the cat stalked by him indignantly in search of Madeline. She was obviously looking for food or a petting session, but Sherlock was unsure of how to give them to her. The cat paced circles around Madeline's chair expectantly and then stalked into the kitchen when she couldn't find her owner in her usual seat. Sherry then turned to Sherlock and seemed to give him an accusing stare. Sherlock frowned and returned to watching the tapes. He could see Mycroft lean down and say something in Madeline's ear before she boarded the plane but couldn't discern what it was. Even when he looked at the body language and the cameras showing different angles it was still unclear, even though whatever Mycroft muttered to Madeline scared her or calmed her into compliance. He pressed his lips together and tried not to regret what he'd done to protect the people close to him. His phone buzzed on the table next to him and Sherlock frowned. He wondered briefly if Madeline would be able to call him or if his brother would have already thought of that and taken his idea of "appropriate action". Sherlock scowled and looked at the message.

_**Rly? U booted her out of the country that fast? **_

_**Who is this? –SH**_

_**Antonio m8. **_Sherlock could feel himself grow angry.

_**On behalf of Charles, I presume? –SH**_ It took a few minutes to get a response.

_**Yep. He wants to talk to u.**_

_**Where? –SH**_

_**Idk.**_ Sherlock waited three-and-a-half-minutes for an elaboration. _**He said he'll come to u. L8r.**_ Antonio texted back. Sherlock waited for another response but didn't receive one. He scowled and closed out the camera footage of Madeline from the computer.

Feelings didn't matter, it was time to work.

**A.N.- Yeahhhh, pretty filler-ish. Tons of descriptive BS n' shit. Sorry about that. **

**Ah yes, fanart is welcome! I haven't said that yet.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A.N.- Ughh this is the part I hate. YES, Madeline's nickname is "Maddy", but I have spelled it horribly awry in the best attempt to keep it as far away from my name as possible. I got a lot of flack from people in the first DBS for having my OC have a name close to mine (Madeline= Madison. YES I understand and get it!). No, I've already said that she's not an interpretation of myself, hence me going against my nature of spelling "Madi" as M.A.D.I. and spelled it M.A.D.D.Y. Please don't nag and send me hate for it, there are so many other things you could flame in this story. Use your flames well.**

**Guest- I'm not sure if it will be as long as DBS1. Perhaps, perhaps not. I make all of this up as I go along so meh. Why? I can end it shorter and take some stuff out and end it sooner if you're not happy with what's going on. I highly value my readers' opinions. **

**RLMW- Who knows? Maybe the whole thing will take place in America for the rest of the story…**

**Cat- Nahhh, why on earth would that be a- yeah okay it's a cliffy. I imagine under normal circumstances John would deck him, but everything is kind of wonky right now.**

**Your Roommate- I had him send her away to annoy you. And yes, Charles made MI6 his bitch. I thought you'd like that line. **

**Grace- I got your review just after I posted the last chapter! So sorry! Yup, the plot is thickening like… like… pudding? Spotted dick? Idk, some kind of thick/ slimy-ish food. Eeeew. Enjoy!**

**Enjoyyyyy!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 10

"Our flight has now landed in Atlanta Airport, please stay seated until the plane comes to a complete stop and the seatbelt light above turns off. Thank you for flying with British Air and have a pleasant day." The flight attendant said. Madeline was struck by how the woman ended her speech like the automated voice that had denied her a call to Sherlock. The thought made her teary again, but there was also a tinge of anger in her stewpot of emotions. Anger at Mycroft, at the British government, at Magnussen and Antonio, at herself, at Sherlock… it took her a moment to realize that the other passengers on the plane were leaving. She sulkily grabbed her bag from the overhead compartment and made her way off the plane. As she passed the cockpit she could hear the pilot and copilot murmuring into their radios when she went by. "She's here and safe. Nothing to report." She heard. Madeline scowled and continued through the accordion-like hallway and into the body of the airport.

It was strange hearing so many American accents again, even though she'd been born and raised with a faint Southern accent it was barely discernable after four-and-a-half years of living in Britain. As Madeline passed the baggage pick up a cold thought struck her.

"Where am I going to stay?" She wondered aloud, spinning around nervously and wondering how she was even going to leave the airport. She didn't even have her wallet.

"Miss Carver?" Someone asked. Madeline spun around quickly, instinctively ready to give a curt retort to a news reporter but remembered that she was back in her own country and nobody else would possibly know or care who she was. She turned to see a smiling young woman in a two-piece suit with a whiteboard reading _**Carver**_ on it.

"We're here to take you to your parents' house." The woman said with a kind but strict smile.

"But they live a good two hours from here." Madeline said suspiciously. "Who do you work for?"

"I'm afraid that's classified." The woman said sternly. "But our contacts in the United Kingdom have requested that we meet you here and escort you to your parents' house as you have no other dwelling in the States at this time." She sounded like she was reciting a speech she'd read off of notecards that were written by a stiff-backed office executive. Madeline frowned and tried to look at the woman's feet, hands, and eyes like Sherlock had told her. She didn't see anything, just a plain woman in a business suit.

"Come with me please," The lady said, "We don't have all day."

. . .

"I've had the most unbelievable day at the clinic today." John groaned, slumping into his chair and rubbing his temples. Sherlock looked up from the laptop and give the doctor a flat glance. Sherry stalked into the living room, mewling for attention. John watched the cat weave circles around Madeline's chair and then walk to the couth and wind herself around John's legs.

"Where's Madeline?" He asked.

"At work." Sherlock responded. John furrowed his brow and looked at the clock. It read _**5:30**_.

"Shouldn't she be home by now? I thought she tried to get home by four." John murmured.

"She's decided to pull later hours." Sherlock returned emotionlessly.

"And when did this happen?" John asked suspiciously, noticing that the envelope with Madeline's plane ticket had disappeared from the arm of her chair.

"Where'd the ticket to D.C. go?" He asked.

"Atlanta, actually. Sherlock said before he could stop himself. John froze and his voice dropped down a couple of octaves.

"What did you do?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock asked, feigning ignorance and nonchalance. John narrowed his eyes at him.

"What. Did you do?" He repeated. "Where's Madeline?"

"Safe," Sherlock answered, fixing the computer screen with a hard glare and not looking at John.

"Safe? How could she be safe; you just tossed her across the Atlantic farther away from where you can protect her!"

"She'll be safer in America."

"What about her depression? Who's going to remind her to take her medicine and check her arms?"

"Don't be stupid, John," Sherlock snapped. "When Mycroft changed the flight to Atlanta I made sure he appointed someone to take her to her parents' house." John dug his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open.

"I'm calling her," He said, dialing Madeline's number and holding the device to his ear. Sherlock waited patiently as the phone rang, and inclined his head when the call connected.

"_We're sorry, you are no longer allowed to contact this number. Have a pleasant day. If you would like to repeat this message, please press three. If not, have a pleasant day." _An automatic voice said. Sherlock frowned as John scowled at his phone and hung up.

"So Mycroft did block all of our phones from contacting her, and probably her from calling us." The detective mused. "How kind of him." John stuffed his phoned back into his pocket and rubbed at his forehead.

"What about Magnussen? Does he have hold over anyone in America?" He asked.

"I'm not sure." Sherlock responded bitterly. "Madeline lives in a small hamlet in the backwoods of Georgia, there'll be nothing to worry about."

"It's not the backwoods, it's between Atlanta and Macon. Two of the biggest cities in the state. How could you have forgotten that?" John asked irately.

"She'll be fine. We'll keep Magnussen busy enough that he won't worry about targeting her all the way in America." Sherlock said, steepling his fingers and frowning. "And when he's taken care of we'll see about bringing Madeline back into the country, although there's a chance she wouldn't want to." John huffed a mirthless laugh and shook his head.

"I don't know. She was fine here, but then again you and your brother just tag-team-deported her out of the country." Sherlock's phone buzzed, he quickly pulled it out and scowled at the screen. John watched him attentively as he read the message and typed a response. The detective waited a minute, tense as a coiled spring until his phone vibrated again. Sherlock threw one look at his screen and jumped from his chair.

"Sherlock, where are you going?" John called after him.

"To get the prince!" Sherlock shouted back.

It only took a short cab ride for him to reach the address he'd been given. Magnussen was waiting for him at a small café on the corner of Campden Hill Road and Holland Street. The businessman was gingerly sipping tea out of a porcelain teacup with a pleasant expression on his face.

"Why good afternoon, Mr. Holmes." He said, mustering up a look of surprise when the detective sat down in front of him with a scowl. "How have you been getting on?"

"Where is Prince George? And why are you finally offering 'insight' into his disappearance?" Sherlock snapped. Magnussen shrugged and took another sip of his tea.

"I feel like you deserve a reward." He said nonchalantly. Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"For what?" Charles gently set down his teacup and adjusted it so that it sat just so on his saucer. Then he interlaced his fingers and laid them on his stomach.

"For sending your fair lady away. That took some courage, don't you think? And especially so callously. I thought you could use something to make the hurt feel better." He gave Sherlock a patronizing smile, but didn't receive one in return. Magnussen sighed and leaned back.

"Alright, since you're not in the mood to be sociable at present." He intoned, "Here." He slid Sherlock a napkin from the café with a mobile number and an address written on it.

"What is this?" Sherlock said. Magnussen chuckled.

"You didn't think I'd just tell you where Prince George is, did you? I know you're in mental turmoil and such but have some common sense." He chastised. "This is the address of someone who knows where he is." Sherlock pocketed the napkin and frowned as he stood from the table.

"You don't know where he is?"

Magnussen shrugged. "I might, but I didn't kidnap him- as I said before. However I do have some affluent people who were so… moved by my friendly request that they executed it." He said pleasantly. Sherlock scoffed and did his best not to sprint to the nearest cab; he wouldn't give Magnussen that satisfaction. Charles stood as well and laid twenty-three pounds on the table to pay for a simple cup of tea before he winked at Sherlock and strolled away with his hands in his pockets, whistling "London Bridge is Falling Down" merrily, making sure to sing "my fair lady" loudly into the air. Sherlock resisted the urge to kick the businessman in the back of the knees and hailed the closed cab.

. . .

"Madeline? Why are you back here, baby? Oh honey it's so good to see you! Is that a bruise on your face? How's work been?" Madeline's mother called as soon as she saw her. Madeline forced a smile onto her face and made sure she was wearing the gloves she'd pulled out of the pre-packed suitcase over her hands and made sure that she turned her arms inwards towards her stomach to hide the other scars. Her mother tackled her in a hug and held her at arm's length, looking her up and down expertly.

"Hi, mama." Madeline wheezed, trying to inflate her lungs after the bone crushing hug. As much as she wanted to be back in London with Sherlock and John it also made her ready to burst into tears at the sight of her childhood home again.

"Alex! Maddyine's come back!" Her mother shouted as she started into the house. Madeline turned back to the black car and the smiling agent woman, who held out the suitcase and nodded her head.

"We'll work on procuring you a separate residence if you request it." She recited, knitting her eyebrows a little bit like she had to recall her scripted lines. "The rest of your belongings will be shipped to you, along with your cat." Her voice gained a little bit of a humane edge as she ended her little speech and tipped her head towards Madeline.

"Have a good day, Miss Carver." She said before climbing back into the car and driving away. Madeline checked her sleeves and her gloves before taking a deep breath and walking back home.

_**Four Months, Three Weeks Later:**_

"And they still don't have a house for you yet, sweetheart?" Janet Carver asked as Madeline spun her hair into a bun and started on the dishes. Her mother was busy scrubbing the kitchen tiles with baking soda and vinegar and Madeline had decided to join in on helping clean the kitchen up.

"No, mom. They said they would but nothing's come up yet." She answered.

"That's just typical of the damn government." Alex Carver snapped, flapping his newspaper and drawling in a heavy Southern accent. "Say they'll do something and then just drop it down the priority list to the very bottom." Madeline shrugged.

"At least I can stay here. Thanks again, by the way."

"Oh baby, you don't have to keep thanking us." Her mother said, patting Madeline's cheek affectionately and accidentally smearing baking soda onto her skin. "It's just like when your brother dropped out of college, we let him stay with us for a while. Speaking of- do you mind telling us why you're back in the States finally?" She asked.

"Drop it, Janet. She didn't want us to ask her." Her father said pointedly as he turned a page in his newspaper. "We're glad you're back though, Maddy." He added for the thousandth time since she'd arrived, making sure to catch Madeline's eye over the top of the sports column.

"Alright then, how was work?" Janet asked good naturedly.

"It's fine, it's not my lab in New York or at St.-" Madeline's face dropped for a second before she plastered a smile onto her face and straightened up. "But it's good. I'm glad Mr. Church gave me the job." She'd been working at the general store downtown for the last few months, trying to contact the Harvard lab she'd been partnered with to see if they could give her a transfer job in Atlanta. Sherry bolted into the kitchen with a yowl, with Alco the German shepherd on her heels. Madeline spun around and snatched her cat off of the ground with soapy hands. Sherry squirmed to get away from the water but Madeline held her fast.

"No, Alco. Go lay down." She told the dog firmly, reveling in how strong her British accent still was, especially when she was stern or cross. Alco wagged his tail a few more times and ignored her, waiting for her to drop the cat and resume the chase; but she pointed to his mat and repeated herself and he dejectedly gave up. Sherry rolled out of Madeline's arms and went to curl up on Alex's lap.

"Maddy what do you want for dinner?" Janet asked, brushing the baking soda from her hands and sweeping her hair back from her face.

"Anything is good, mom." Madeline replied.

"How about some salmon?"

"Sounds fine to me." Madeline could hear her mother rummaging through the cabinets and making disapproving noises.

"Alex, we're out of thyme, paprika, and rosemary." She called.

"Then go grab some." Madeline's father called back. Her mother huffed and leaned out of the kitchen.

"Baby will you go get some thyme and rosemary for me? We don't need the paprika." She asked. Madeline shrugged and dried her hands on her jeans.

"Yeah I'll get on it." She said. "From the Wal-Mart down the road, yeah?"

"Actually there's this new organic place. We've been trying to eat healthier. Their spices are more natural and actually taste better, don't they, Alex?" Janet said.

"Guess so." He responded, folding his newspaper and whistling for Alco. The German shepherd skidded into the room, eagerly awaiting his walk that the whistle signaled. Janet scribbled the address down on a post-it note and handed it off to Madeline.

"Mom this is all the way in Atlanta!" She complained.

"And? It's good food! Get goin', Maddyine." Janet told her, aiming a playful kick after her daughter to get her moving out the door. Madeline huffed dramatically for emphasis and left for Atlanta.

. . .

It was frustrating. Madeline still wasn't used to driving on the right-hand-side of the road once again. The drive to Atlanta was arduous, and she couldn't help but grimace at the prospect of the afternoon traffic she'd encounter on the way home.

Home.

There it was again. The smallest things would remind her of London, and not just of London- of Baker Street. Madeline would be fine one minute and be hit with a horrible wave of nostalgia the next. She shook her head furiously and turned up the radio, blaring her music loud enough to rattle the windows in her father's old pickup truck in an effort to drown out her thoughts.

She entered the city and drove around the streets aimlessly for a little bit until she found the Olympic Centennial Park. She could see the fountain at the entrance to the park sending up spurts of water periodically but methodically in the April air. As she passed it a figure caught her eye. A tall person standing between the flags of Great Britain and Finland was staring at the jets of water spraying up from the ground. They were dressed in black and impossibly lanky and tall. Madeline started so quickly she slammed on the brakes and almost collided with the cars behind and in front of her. Over the blaring of angry horns she looked back to the park, but the stranger was facing away from her and walking away. She also saw that they had incredibly blond hair, and chastised herself for wishful thinking before continuing to try and find the organic market.

Madeline perused the different spices lined up on the walls of the store. They were impossibly numerous and ranged from dark blue-black to bright red or yellow. She quickly grabbed the items Janet had requested and then felt free to peruse the rest of the store. Their shelves boasted chocolate covered sunflower seeds, whole pomegranates, some odd kind of yogurt from goats, and plenty of other items that intrigued Madeline. When she was checking out a cold feeling stabbed her lungs like a jolt of electricity.

"I got parsley instead of thyme!" She muttered, snatching the little package of spice and apologizing to the cashier as she bolted to the far wall to select the correct spice. She stepped past all the different kinds of salts and peppers until she found the leaf-based spices. She traded the parsley for thyme and turned to make her way back to the cashier with satisfaction.

"You dropped this." Madeline turned around quickly and found the tiny box of thyme she'd just been holding in someone else's hand. She took it and muttered her thanks, then spun around again. It was the same person she'd seen standing in Centennial Park, with the same mop of blond hair and lanky build and everything. Now that he was facing her she could see that he had a very scraggly looking beard growing in every which way on his face and the complexion of a modern day hobo.

"Thanks." She said earnestly again before turning to make her way back to the impatient cashier.

"Did you know that three pounds of Bhut Jolokia chiles in powder form are enough to kill someone?" The stranger asked, Madeline hummed and didn't hear him, she could feel another mania swing coming on and was determined to get back in the pickup with her music to enjoy it to its fullest.

"Capsaicin causes tissue inflammation, which can lead to internal speed-cooking or severe vomiting. It's like a willingly induced fever." The stranger continued, following her into the checkout line. Madeline eyed him out of the corner of her eye suspiciously, still ignoring every word he said. He sighed impatiently as she scrawled her name on the transaction pad and swiped her parents' credit card. Unfortunately the US government had yet to issue her an American credit card again, either.

"You have an interesting tattoo on your hand." The stranger remarked, reaching out a leathery finger to point at the "M" peeking out from underneath Madeline's long sleeve. "It's too warm for long sleeves, aren't you uncomfortable?" Instead of turning around and giving the stranger what for, Madeline thanked the cashier, gathered the groceries into her arms, and made her way to the old pick up. The stranger trailed her outside and strolled aimlessly beside her. Madeline deposited the groceries into the front seat and scowled.

"What, what do you want?" She asked. There was a rustling from the bed of the truck as someone leapt out onto the pavement.

"He was just making sure it was you." They said smoothly, passing off a crisp fifty-dollar bill to the man, who winked and meandered out of the parking lot. Madeline blinked in the sunlight and moved so that the sun wasn't directly behind the new stranger. She blinked again when he came into focus.

"You shit." Was the most intelligent thing she could muster. A blonde and stubble-clad Sherlock Holmes gave her a weak smile and wiggled his hands enthusiastically, albeit sarcastically.

"Surprise." Madeline shook her head, her mania swing was almost upon her, this could not be happening.

"No, no, no. I knew I shouldn't have stopped the meds…" She murmured, Sherlock picked a piece of straw out of his hair and flicked it to the side aimlessly.

"The bed of that truck was filthy." He remarked. Madeline spun to face him and stormed close enough that they were toe-to-toe.

"What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" She growled, punctuating every word with a sharp jab of her finger to his chest.

"I came to get you and bring you back to London." He said with too much cheerfulness. Madeline shook her head.

"Why? Four months of being left here with no contact and _now_ you want to take me back to England? Now? You sent me away! You let Mycroft take me and stick me on a plane and ship me home!" She said, her voice growing higher and higher by the minute. Then she stopped and glared at him.

"You know what- get in the car." Madeline said, "You're sitting in the back."

"It smells like dogs and diesel fuel." Sherlock complained as they drove away from Atlanta.

"You know what? Good. Deal with it." Madeline snapped back at him. "Who was that guy who followed me through the store?" Sherlock shrugged.

"A random man I encountered. It seems American cities have a large population of people to include in homeless networks as well." He observed, leaning forward a little bit to try and get a glimpse at the inside of Madeline's arms.

"Uh-huh. And how did he know to say all of that crap to me? Were you feeding him lines?"

"It's amazing how someone's memory improves when there's currency involved." Sherlock said mysteriously.

"I'm going to punch you." Madeline said lowly. "I swear to God I'm going to deck you right across the face." Sherlock sat back in the seat and allowed himself a smile, not sure if she was speaking in an angry Southern accent or an angry British accent.

. . .

"So you're that Sherlock boy that she was always talking about!" Janet exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air excitedly (not unlike Mrs. Hudson) and tackling the detective in a hug. Alex scowled at him for a second after his wife had let go and then stuck out his hand. Sherlock hesitated for a second and then shook it firmly.

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Carver- she 'was' always talking about me?" He asked with a glint of wry humor, Madeline glowered at her feet while Alco jumped up and down like a loaded spring to try and lick at Sherlock's face. Madeline caught the dog by the collar and held him still while her parents continued to acquaint themselves with the detective.

"Mama that's enough." She said quietly, "Do you need any help cooking dinner? If not Sherlock and I need to talk." Janet shook her head and shooed Madeline out of the kitchen, she traded Alco for Sherlock and took him with her to the back porch.

"Answers. Now." She demanded. "Why did you send me away, how did you know where to find me, and why in the _hell_ did you drug my coffee?" Sherlock's charming demeanor dropped like a stone and he crossed his arms at her. Madeline gestured sarcastically to the rocking chairs littering the porch and took a seat in one. When Sherlock sat in another he began answering.

"I sent you away because Magnussen was going to exploit you, you already knew that." He began lowly, "And it was simple finding you. I actually spent an entire week in Macon trying to find your whereabouts, then I went to Atlanta. You were bound to turn up in one of those cities at some point." Madeline shook her head.

"I don't believe it." She muttered as Alco padded out onto the porch and nudged her hand to ask her to pet him.

"As for the coffee- I knew you wouldn't go quietly, how else was I to get you out without causing drama? You already caused a large scene in the airport." Sherlock continued. Madeline looked like she wanted to say biting things to him but was restraining herself.

"And what about John, Mary, and the baby?" She asked in a barely controlled voice.

"A boy." Sherlock answered, "Mary is having to redo the entire nursery and knit blue shoes instead of pink." Madeline felt her mouth drop open.

"They had the baby?"

"The week after you left."

"You're a git."

"I know."

"I can't believe you just left me here." She reiterated, "Just shelved me to keep me out of Magnussen's reach, then?" Sherlock rubbed at his temples exasperatedly.

"You know that's not the case." Madeline made a dismissive noise.

"And why does your hair look like Justin Timberlake's?" She added callously. "The bathroom is two doors down on the left, use the towels but don't get hair dye everywhere. Dad keeps some razors in the cabinet, use them to shave. I'm going to go set the table." She said, not waiting for Sherlock's explanation. "Join us when you look like yourself." With that she stood and reentered the house with Alco trailing behind her. Sherlock stared at the rocking chair she'd occupied, still rocking from the force she'd stood up with. He grimaced and stood, too; more guilty than he'd let on.

"You can have the guest bedroom, Mr. Holmes. Will that be okay?" Her mother asked after a dinner whose conversations revolved around Madeline's father asking "what kind of a name is Sherlock?" and her mother commenting on how he looked even better with his normal black hair. Sherlock shook his head.

"Actually, Mrs. Carver I prefer not to sleep when I'm in a different time zone-"He began, but Madeline snagged him by the sleeve and all but dragged him to and threw him on the bed in her room.

"You're going to lay there," She snapped, joining him and curling up against his chest almost childishly. "I want to punch you." She whispered fiercely to him. The corner of Sherlock's mouth jumped upwards slightly and then curled down into a frown.

"Sorry." He said bluntly.

"I don't want your apology." Madeline said into his chest with a muffled voice. "You have no idea what a shitty few months I've had."

"I do, actually." Sherlock said, looking down at her even though she couldn't see him doing so. "It wasn't my first choice, and it wasn't my favorite option, either. I trust you got the note I left you?" Madeline nodded against his chest, resisting the urge to get up and grab the copy of _Peter Pan_ from her bookshelf. Sherlock's hand found its way down to Madeline's wrist and tugged her sleeve up for inspection. She didn't resist him or pull away, but she didn't meet his eyes, either. His mouth curled even farther downwards to showcase his disapproval.

"How are you doing on medicine doses?" Madeline rolled away from his chest so she could look him in the face.

"Pretty damn good, actually. I haven't been taking them." Sherlock's expression grew sour.

"Yes, you mentioned that during your rant in the parking lot this afternoon." Madeline shrugged.

"I think it's just being home. I'm not in any danger so I don't have to keep worrying about staying up to date on them. I'll take on every once in a while but that's about it." She told him.

"Then why do you have more scars than before?" Sherlock asked lowly. "Do your parents know?"

"Oh are you kidding? I had to have their permission to get the antidepressant prescriptions when I was under eighteen. 'Course they know." She said, laughing a little. "I mean, they know I take the meds, my mom thinks I quit cutting after I got out of my 'teenager phase'. Did a good job of hiding it, too." Sherlock frowned at her and Madeline ignored him. They lay in an awkward silence for a few minutes.

"Maddyine!" Janet called, "The fireflies are out!" Madeline groaned.

"Okay, mom! Don't let Sherry outside!" Sherlock smirked at her.

"Maddyine?" He asked.

"I will punch you this time." She threatened. He smiled at her and she frowned. "So can I go back to London yet?" It was Sherlock's turn to frown, and as he shook his head a loud blaring sound echoed throughout the house, making Madeline clap her hands over her ears and open her eyes.

Her alarm clock stared at her balefully, broadcasting _**5:30**_ in bright red letters and still screeching obnoxiously. She slapped at the alarm until it finally turned off, and then rubbed her eyes and sighed before getting out of bed. Sherry rolled over on the comforter to find another warm spot on the bed. Madeline pursed her lips at the cat teasingly and gathered her clothes for the day. When she looked at herself in the mirror she frowned and blinked repeatedly to keep her tears back. Being home was great, but she wanted to go to her _other_ home. She debated dismantling one of the razors in the cabinet and using it before work to keep her negative feelings at bay but decided against it when she thought about her dream.

Madeline crept out of the house and backed the old pickup out of the driveway as quietly as she could. The air was brisk, so she decided to roll the windows down as she drove the three miles to downtown to get to work. She pulled into the back lot of Church's General Store and walked in through the back door, Mr. Church was already up and shelving the newest shipment of coffee. Madeline pulled her hair back and got ready for work.

**A.N.- I was going to make this longer but decided not to. Sorry. They were going to meet at a Trader Joe's… buuut that seemed too close and convenient. Eheeeee. So just take a filler chapter of everyone trying to get on with their lives. **


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